


The Wicked and Divine

by whimsicule



Series: We're all heavenly creatures [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: AU, Angels, Christian Beliefs, M/M, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicule/pseuds/whimsicule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Villa is a writer who has an abnormal relationship with his best friend and a severe caffeine addiction. Leo is the fallen Angel of Death who wants nothing more than to return to Heaven. They meet at a coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up where Unmusical dialects of Men leaves off, but stands on its own (reading the other wouldn't hurt though). Posted in four parts because I'm kind of busy and I need pressure. Feedback is much much loved.
> 
> WARNING/DISCLAIMER: References to God and Christian beliefs. I own nothing and no one. Also, this is a work of fiction, which doesn't intend to offend anyone's beliefs, so please view it as only that.

_In the abundance of your trade you were filled with violence in your midst, and you sinned; so I cast you as a profane thing from the mountain of God, and I destroyed you, O guardian cherub, from the midst of the stones of fire._

**Ezekiel 28:16**

  


 

***

  
  
  
Leo doesn’t like coffee. He thinks it tastes utterly vile, awful and disgusting in every bad meaning of the word. It’s bitter and leaves an unpleasant scent on people’s breath and if God had wanted an easy way to punish Lucifer for rebelling against Him, He should’ve just made him drink it. Might’ve been more convenient than throwing him into the pit and locking him up. Perhaps their Father should’ve made Leo drink it once after disobeying and he would’ve thought twice before going against His will again. Because now Leo is stuck here, and apparently, people do actually like coffee.  
  
They _worship_ it.  
  
Leo doesn’t care about people, he doesn’t care what they like and dislike and he honestly doesn’t give a bloody fuck how they drink their stupid coffee. And he can’t make coffee anyway – because he’s overqualified.  
  
See, Leo hasn’t always been face to face with humanity in such a friendly and quite domestic setting, surrounded by mugs and pots and mismatched chairs; by steaming machines and foaming milk and nostalgic photography adorning pastel painted walls. He hasn’t always had to listen to their uninspiring, dull voices monotonously rambling down orders.  
  
Leo used to hear their screams, sweet and melodic and ever changing. He used to wield a fiery sword against them, burn them alive and soak up pain and despair seeping from their eyes. He used to punish the wicked, make them suffer for straying off the righteous path until he himself had strayed off the path. Leo refuses to say righteous in his case, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t. He was born out of his Father’s anger, forged by desperation and hate and scorn. His sole purpose had been vengeance and he’d fulfilled it splendidly until –  
  
Well, Leo doesn’t really know what happened then. He just knows that everything had been taken from him and he’d lost all his meaning and all he’d felt had been hate, which is only logical, because that’s what he was and still is made of. In retrospect, Leo can almost laugh about it because it’s just so damn ironic that he got punished for being what he is. He can almost laugh, but it still makes him angry.  
  
Whether he’d gone a little overboard in his anger back then isn’t something Leo ever thinks about.  
  
So yes, considering who Leo was and still is – he knows he’s overqualified. And this bloody coffee can fuck itself to hell and back for all he cares.  
  
Leo looks at the cup in his hand for a moment. Then he drops it. It breaks on the floor, bursts into pieces, sharp and glistening edges and liquid sloshing like dried blood, and Leo waits in vain for his core to feel anything but cold and indifferent.  
  
  
  
  
Leo could leave easily. He’s spent years in almost every place imaginable and he’s taken on different forms, different names; there’s a lot of time to be wasted in a couple of centuries. On a whim, following some calls, his instinct maybe, he’d gone to the Catalan coast. Perhaps Piqué lured him there accidentally, perhaps he’d meant for Leo to come closer to his vicinity; maybe the trickster had become the tricked, Leo thinks with a huff, although he does doubt that. Not that he thinks Piqué is stupid. Just naïve.  
  
Anyway. Barcelona is as good a place as any. And Leo finds as many reasons to leave as to stay. Which reflects the fact that he isn’t bothered. It is likely that this place has piqued his curiosity for now, and it is entertaining enough, so he shrugs off any need to keep moving, any itch that urges him to set foot onto another continent.  
  
Leo just isn’t overly fond of this coffee shop Kun and Gonzalo have picked out as a cover. They don’t even need a cover. There is no need for money, for food or sleep, but Leo has stopped trying to understand those two and he’s stopped trying to prevent them from following him, from hanging onto his coattails. He guesses they most likely stick with him because Leo could save their skin and Leo knows he could dispose of them easily enough if they turn out to be a burden.  
  
“You know,” Kun tells him from his position behind the espresso machine, looking quizzically at an array of blinking buttons. “You can’t just sit here and do nothing. At least, you know – help out. People will think you’re weird.”  
  
“Coffee is weird,” Leo says. “Coffee sucks.”  
  
“How would I know? I can’t taste anything.”  
  
“Maybe that’s why it sucks.”  
  
Because it really does. Leo’s no expert, but whatever it is Kun is doing can’t be good. It’s a miracle that there are still customers pouring in. A hand lands cold and heavy on his shoulder.  
  
“Hey, no hate man.”  
  
Leo turns on his stool and raises his eyebrows at Gonzalo. The final part of their almost literal _trio infernale_ is wearing an apron and is covered in flour from head to toe. His attempts at baking are leaving Leo even more unsettled than Kun’s experiments with the espresso machine. It would be easier for all of them to just wake up that poor old sod in the storage chamber and possess him, make him do the work.  
  
“Don’t touch me with that,” Leo says and points at Gonzalo’s chocolate fingers that have now left a dark stain on Leo’s shirt. And damn, it was his favourite.  
  
But Gonzalo just shrugs, has the audacity to pat his cheek with the same filthy fingers and retreats back into the kitchen with a smile. Leo frowns at his reflection blinking back at him from the shiny chrome machines and irritably wipes the sticky chocolate off his skin. The steam blowing up in Kun’s face might as well be coming out of his ears. It’s not his bloody fault that he gets annoyed easily. He was basically constructed to have a short fuse; or no fuse at all.  
  
Leo scowls, grabs one of the tea towels behind the counter and throws a glance around the small room. Two people are standing in a queue, patiently waiting for Kun to get their order right because Kun is smiling at them like there’s no tomorrow and they’re charmed by him like fools. There are three more people present; an elderly lady nursing a cup of herbal tea that smells so strong Leo feels his heightened senses squirm, and a young couple sharing a hot chocolate and a monstrous piece of Gonzalo’s hundredth take on the traditional chocolate brownie. Leo shakes his head at them, because it is painfully obvious that he has been cheating on her for approximately three weeks and she’s already set her sights on some guy she met a few days ago.  
  
Humans are just pathetic. Leo can’t understand how his Father even bothers with them.  
  
  
  
  
They always speak of light. Light at the moment of creation, in presence of their Father, surrounded by the other angels, in the minute of conception and in the second of death. Even hell is hot and blinding and painfully bright.  
  
In the moment of his birth, Leo had only felt darkness.  
  
  
  
  
More often than not, Leo leaves Kun and Gonzalo to fend for their own and exits the coffee shop. Then he walks through the streets, listens to people’s thoughts to drown out his own. Sometimes he sits down and watches them, observes as their pitiful lives unfold. Sometimes he toys with the idea of ending them all just because he can.  
  
“You look like you’re ready to slice a few throats,” a voice mutters into his ears.  
  
Leo doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Piqué, once again dropping by from up there and Leo wishes he hadn’t shown him how to travel between the different worlds. He’s made a habit of dropping in on Leo at random moments and it’s a painful reminder that he doesn’t have that freedom anymore.  
  
“Don’t you have work to do?” he asks, pointedly ignoring Piqué’s jab. “You really are an awful cupid.”  
  
Piqué shrugs. “Kind of a mess up there, still. Thanks to us. I’m trying to get away from Puyol glaring daggers at me. Although you’re not exactly cheerful company either.”  
  
“I’m bored,” Leo says. “I know Pep is watching me, so I can’t do anything. Is it too much to ask if I just want to break someone’s neck from time to time?”  
  
“Probably,” Piqué retorts. “Maybe you should try anger management classes. I hear they do wonders for your mental balance.”  
  
Leo very much doubts that would work.  
  
  
  
  
He has a list. And every once in a while, he will add something to it. But he doesn’t show it to anyone. He finds it embarrassing how many times he’s failed to return home.  
  
  
  
  
Souls are a peculiar thing. They have different colours, contain a different level of brightness, but most of all, they have a very distinct smell. Leo’s had a lot of free time to categorize them. The archangels’ are deep, profound, a hint of spice so it’s just on the right side of sharp. The cherubs’ are sweet and light, like candyfloss with a drop of honey while the seraphim smell of bitter freshness, clean and imposing. The lost ones in the pit always carry a trace of smoke and ash with them and Leo guesses that’s probably attached to him too nowadays. After all, his soul is tarnished and broken and burnt.  
  
Human souls are as dull as their exterior. They’re bland and boring like a still puddle of water.  
  
Worthless.  
  
Kun nudges him with his elbow, pulling him out of his trance, and holds a steaming cup up to his nose. The smell makes Leo want to hurl.  
  
“I think I’m getting better,” Kun says proudly with a wide smile and Leo thinks absentmindedly that he almost misses Kun’s fangs; they’d add a whole new edge to his toothy grins. “Try it.”  
  
Leo shakes his head adamantly. “Never. Get that out of my face.”  
  
Kun pulls away with a sickeningly hurt expression, but Leo doesn’t have the energy to be annoyed with him anymore. It’s exhausting to be confronted with the same old trot every day. Before Kun can say anything, there’s a loud clank from the kitchen and Gonzalo pokes his head around the doorframe.  
  
“You should have some chocolate,” he comments. “They say it makes happy. You could do with some happy right now.”  
  
“You know what would make me happy?” Leo asks, but Gonzalo shakes his head instantly.  
  
“Don’t tell me. I’m sure it involves a lot of blood.”  
  
Then he disappears back into the kitchen. Leo is about to call after him that he’s a real sorry excuse of a demon when Kun pokes him and nods his head towards the entrance.  
  
“Look,” he says with a sly grin. “Here comes your new favourite.”  
  
And there he is. Wearing a black coat and scarf, a few feeble snowflakes caught in his dark hair, he shuts the door and walks straight up to the counter. Leo doesn’t need to listen to know he’s ordering a simple black coffee (if he actually prefers it that way or if he’s figured out that’s the only order Kun ever gets right at first try) with enough room for a drop of milk. Then he will take his cup over to the counter, add skimmed milk, never full fat, sometimes soy, two spoons of brown sugar and, for some reason Leo has yet to understand, a pinch of cinnamon.  
  
Leo’s eyes stay glued to his narrow back the entire time he fights with the lid of his paper cup and their gazes cross briefly when he leaves again. He nods his head briefly, and there’s a flicker of unknown recognition in his dark orbs before he exits and disappears around the corner.  
  
Leo huffs out a breath and when he tears himself away from staring at the shop front, he finds Kun looking at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You should talk to him. He knows you.”  
  
“He doesn’t remember that we met,” Leo replies. “And Pep wouldn’t be happy if I did. Was pissed off enough last time.”  
  
“Since when did that ever stop you?”  
  
And Leo assumes Kun’s right about that.  
  
He comes by every day to get his coffee and Leo wonders if there’s some deep-seeded remembrance pattern that makes him do so, or if he is that desperate for his daily dosage of caffeine. Always to go, always with a splash of milk, two spoonful’s of sugar and some cinnamon. He always wears a black coat, always has a black scarf wrapped around his neck, legs clad in washed-out denim. Just his shoes change, like he’s got a pair of hideous sneakers in every shade of the rainbow.  
  
He comes by every day to get his coffee and Leo wonders if there’s some deep-seeded remembrance pattern that makes him do so, or if he is that desperate for his daily dosage of caffeine. Always to go, always with a splash of milk, two spoonful’s of sugar and some cinnamon. He always wears a black coat, always has a black scarf wrapped around his neck, legs clad in washed-out denim. Just his shoes change, like he’s got a pair of hideous sneakers in every shade of the rainbow.  
  
It’s a particularly cold and hideous day out there when instead of leaving with his order, he finds an armchair in the furthest corner of the room, peels out of his coat and opens a laptop on the table in front of him. He starts typing away like he’s a madman and gets two refills in forty minutes before Leo decides he doesn’t give a fuck what Pep makes of this. He can’t sink any lower anyway.  
  
So he walks up to the table and sits down, holds out his hand because apparently, that’s what people do for whatever reason when they greet each other. Eyebrows rise high on the – Leo has to admit – strikingly handsome face.  
  
“I’m Leo,” he says and watches with more fascination than he’d be ready to confess to how nimble fingers hesitantly reach for his in what turns out to be a probably quite awkward handshake.  
  
He gives him a sceptical look, doesn’t reply, but scrunches up his forehead.  
  
“You’re Villa, right? David Villa,” Leo continues. “I know,” and before that can infinitely freak out Villa, he adds, “I know your friend Xavi. A bit. I’m actually more acquainted with a friend of his. Former friend.” He frowns. “It’s complicated.”  
  
Surprisingly, Villa smiles at that. “With Xavi, it always is. Do you – I don’t know, own this place?”  
  
Leo guesses it would seem so to outsiders, so he says, “kind of,” and shrugs.  
  
Villa leans forward slightly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think your barista needs some training,” and he vaguely nods in Kun’s direction. “If I weren’t addicted to coffee, I doubt I’d drink that.” He points at his half-empty cup with a lopsided smile. “Has he ever made coffee before you employed him?”  
  
Leo mirrors Villa’s movement, places his elbows on the table in front of him and makes their gazes lock. “Do you want me to tell you the truth, or do you want me to tell you a story?” he asks with a lowered voice. “And the story might be true, but it’s up to you to decide.”  
  
Villa’s eyes flicker between Leo’s and his lips. “Then I guess I’ll have to go for the story.”  
  
“If I told you I was Lucifer’s brother, would you believe me?” He tilts his head slightly, observes every tiny reaction through narrowed eyes. “What would you say if I told you that God threw me into the darkest depths of hell and I raised myself and dragged Kun there with me.”  
  
Villa hesitates only for a moment. “Well, I’d say that it would at least explain the horrendous coffee.”  
  
Leo blinks. Then he has to hum a laugh, can only too well imagine Kun’s face at that (because of course he’s eavesdropping, Leo would be disappointed if he weren’t) and slides back on his armchair, drawing his left leg in and brushing a stray strand of hair out of his eye. He is well aware of Villa watching his every movement. Leo has done this for centuries. Suppressing another laugh, he smirks. Humans are just so predictable.  
  
“Then I guess I’d reply that a demon probably knows shit about coffee.”  
  
The corners of Villa’s mouth keep twitching in amusement. If only he knew, Leo thinks. “And I’d ask: is it a good idea for a demon to make coffee then?”  
  
“Then you’d have to believe me if I told you he were even worse at being a demon than at making coffee,” he quips.  
  
“I doubt that’s possible,” Villa comments with a full-grown grin that draws lines around his dark eyes. Leo wonders how they’d feel beneath his fingertips, long fascinated with the phenomenon of touch, of nerve endings and sensation and that almost electric spark that elicits upon contact.  
  
“Oh Villa,” he drawls and enjoys how the name rolls off his tongue. “You have no idea.”  
  
Leo takes a deep breath. Villa’s soul smells so intoxicating he can almost taste it.  
  
  


 

***

  
  
  
Villa drinks far too much coffee these days. He’s always had a rather strong affinity towards caffeine-containing beverages in general ever since he’d discovered their blissful effects as a teenager. But now his consummation of said beverages borders on unhealthy. Surprisingly though, it’s not his fault. He’s on track with work, his latest book being in the final stages of the editing process and so far, he’s still keeping to his New Year’s resolutions; quit smoking, start exercising, an no alcohol for one months to cleanse his system and let his liver recover.  
  
But he just can’t sleep.  
  
Thing is, it’s all Xavi’s fault. Because he is so perfect in so many ways, uniting a million good traits in him without having a single bad bone in his body. Of course Xavi has a temper, but only because he is so passionate, because he cares so much. Now, you are probably suspecting that Villa’s had many sleepless nights on account of being in love with his best friend. And if this were a world where Villa wouldn’t consider himself damaged goods, where he wouldn’t think of Xavi as being perfect and thus too perfect for him – that might as well been the case.  
  
That is not the case. And the truth is that Villa screwed up a long time ago, that he’s missed his chances too many times, busy being an utter dick, but it’s okay and Villa is glad he can love Xavi with all his heart, knowing that it won’t ever lead to anything. Saying that he’s arranged himself with that sounds too bitter, but for the lack of a better word – he’s arranged himself with it. So, Xavi is perfect and Villa loves him, and he can’t sleep because he’s worried out of his fucking mind.  
  
“I have a few weeks worth of holidays saved up anyway,” Xavi tells him when Villa is over at his flat, like he’s always in his spare time nowadays. “Turns out being a workaholic has its perks.”  
  
Villa sits down on the edge of the bed Xavi has barely managed to crawl out of since before Christmas. “Could be a burn-out,” he suggests, although he knows that’s not it and Xavi knows it too; he’s no idiot, he’s seen a doctor and apparently, he’s as healthy as one can be. Villa had speculated about something like acute depression, but that’d been ruled out too.  
  
“I’m just tired,” Xavi says and he looks every inch of it. He’s pale and he’s cheeks are sunk and he could probably use a shave.  
  
“Coffee?” Villa asks with a shrug. “There’s this place close to mine I just discovered. Kinda quirky, a bit weird. You’d like it. The coffee is awful, but the guy who runs it is one attractive piece of –” Xavi raises a brow at him. “Okay, shutting up.” He sighs. “Okay, scoot over.”  
  
Kicking off his shoes, throwing his jumper into the corner and lifting the duvet, Villa crawls into the bed. He feels Xavi’s shoulder blades protruding against his chest and the contour of his ribs when his hands brush Xavi’s sides to hug him close. Xavi is such a feeble and lifeless body in his arms that Villa has to bite his lips to suppress his own desperation.  
  
“I saw this documentary once,” Xavi tells him with a tight voice, well into the night after neither of them has found sleep in hours. “About war veterans who’d lost limbs in combat. They’d lost arms and legs and yet – they’d still feel pain where that limb used to be. It’s called phantom pain.”  
  
It sounds hollow in the dark room. Villa touches his forehead to Xavi’s neck.  
  
“It sort of feels like that, you know?” he continues. “There’s something missing. And I can’t remember, but I know it was there and now that it’s not –”  
  
He breaks off and they descend into silence once again.  
  
  
  
  
If Xavi has a temper, than Villa has a lot more and sometimes he’ll get so frustrated he’ll start yelling without really meaning to.  
  
“What’s wrong with you?”  
  
“I don’t know!” Xavi will shout back at him, desperate and annoyed with himself.  
  
“Are you just saying that because you don’t want to tell me?” he’ll ask tiredly. “Or do you really not know?”  
  
Then Xavi will sigh and his shoulders will slump and Villa will feel like an asshole.  
  
“I just don’t know.”  
  
And that’ll be the end of that.  
  
  
  
  
A cup of coffee is placed in front of him.  
  
“What’re you writing?”  
  
Villa glances up from the bright screen of his laptop. Leo is only wearing a t-shirt again, despite it being January and generally cold outside. In big, bold letters it says _Which day did God make all the fossils?_ on it. He feels his mouth twitch in amusement as Leo sits down opposite him, a soft twinkle in his incredibly dark eyes and if Villa were to write about _them_ , he’d probably mention that they seem to absorb every flicker of light in the room.  
  
“I’m just doing some rendering,” he replies. “I write books and my editor wants this printed and published by the end of the month.”  
  
“Hm,” Leo hums, toying with the hem of his shirt, exposing a sliver of pale skin for the fraction of a second, yet it still makes Villa’s throat go dry. “So I guess I’m safe to assume you’re quite the expert on stories.”  
  
Villa shrugs. “I wouldn’t say expert. But they sell.”  
  
“Have you come to a verdict on mine?” Leo asks and leans in, elbows on the table and Villa finds himself staring at his hands for a few moments. For some reason, he’d expected them to be slim and delicate, slender much like Leo’s frame, considering his narrow shoulders and hips and the way he can roughly see his collarbones looming through the think fabric of his t-shirt. They’re small, yet sinewy and strong, like – like they could wield a sword and Villa isn’t sure where that thought suddenly comes from.  
  
He clears his throat. “Very entertaining, definitely. You sure have a hand for them. But I think I have to hear more about it to pass my judgement.”  
  
“No,” Leo declines with a smile and Villa has a second to feel disappointed before he goes on. “I think it’s your turn to tell me one.”  
  
“Well,” Villa blinks in surprise. “What do you want to hear?”  
  
Leo’s lips part to reveal a line of immaculately white teeth. “You can tell me whatever you want,” and maybe Villa is in over his head already – probably – and maybe he’s hearing things, but somehow, it sounds like a promise.  
  
He swallows thickly, awkwardly, and notices distractedly that there are two pairs of eyes watching them. The dark-eyed barista with the ever present smile and another guy, considerably taller, wearing an apron, a smudge of chocolate on his forehead. They see Villa looking at them, but they don’t avert their gazes like normal people would, just keep on staring, and Villa forgets to be freaked out by that. Leo shifts, tilting his head as he waits, baring the like of his neck. Usually, Villa is a pretty able flirter, confident and smooth, but Leo is already turning out to be infinitely different from anyone Villa would normally go for, so he guesses it makes sense that he feels out of his comfort zone.  
  
“Well,” he says again, thinks _smooth Villa, really smooth_ and flexes his hands, runs his fingers along the seams of his jeans. “I write fiction. Don’t really stick to one specific genre, but I guess most of my books could be considered gory. So – I don’t know if they’re good stories.”  
  
There’s a wicked edge to Leo’s expression now. It makes Villa’s spine tingle. “Oh, gory is always good,” he says. “But since you’ve finished that one,” and he points to Villa’s quietly humming laptop, “How about you tell me about the next one?”  
  
He’s about to kindly decline, since – well, he never tells people about his ideas, not even Xavi. But Villa finds the words coaxed out of his throat before he’s even finished his thought.  
  
“I just – thought about blurring the lines a little, between what’s real and what’s not. And I don’t know how I came up with it, and it’s probably stupid, but it just came to me and I can’t get it out of my head,” and he wants to stop right there, but Leo silently urges him on. “The main idea is this: A man wakes up in the middle of the night and he has no recollection as to who he is and where he is from. He starts wandering through the city and discovers that he is followed and throughout this one night, as he walks, he gains a brief memory at a time. The closer his follower gets, the more elaborate details he remembers, vague stories, he never knows if they’re actually true. And in the end, the pursuer catches up with him, and he remembers that he fell from the sky.” He pauses as Leo’s brows rise slightly and has a sip of his lukewarm coffee. “It won’t be revealed who actually chased him; if it was a regular person, an evil spirit, or just his own imagination.”  
  
Leo hums. He does this a lot, Villa registers. Then he says, “how very intriguing,” and it sounds honest, although Villa isn’t quite sure if he should believe that.  
  
“Nah, I suck at this,” he utters. “I’m better at writing than storytelling. And saying it out loud, it just sounds weird.”  
  
But Leo keeps smiling and sitting opposite him in this ridiculous shirt and it occurs to Villa that he’s probably falling too. Hard and fast.  
  
  
  
  
Soon after that, Villa finds himself dividing his time between Xavi’s flat and Leo’s coffee shop. He gets most of his editing done, but of course his agent sends it back, tells him to shorten it a little and whatnot, so he carries his laptop around and types whenever he has time for or feels like it. Xavi continues to worry the fuck out of him and the fact that there is absolutely nothing Villa can do to change that keeps him up at night, which is why he continues to drink the most horrendous coffee he’s ever had. Seeing Leo on an almost daily basis – well, that’s definitely a plus. He’s fascinated, simple as that, because in spite of their regular chats, Leo doesn’t reveal much about himself (to be fair, Villa doesn’t reveal much about himself either, but that’s beside the point).  
  
He spins tales around Villa’s head, detailed and intricate; stories about ancient kingdoms and lost cultures and he does so with a wicked smile, teasing, constantly teasing and if Leo is aware of the effect he has on Villa, then it’s downright cruel. He wears t-shirts with weird slogans, always somewhat offending religious themes and yes, Villa wonders what the hell is up with that, but considering that Leo employs two freaks that barely talk, only stare and can’t make coffee – or bake for that matter – it’s probably not the weirdest thing about him.  
  
Villa is having a particularly shitty day (his boiler breaks, resulting in a cold morning shower) when he meets Piqué for the first time. He walks into the coffee shop some time in the afternoon, ready to sit down in his usual seat, ready to soak up Leo’s company, when he finds an incredibly tall and lanky guy in his armchair. He’s got the brightest pair of blue eyes Villa has ever seen and probably the goofiest smile too. And he stares at him with as much open interest as the guy who regularly ruins his coffee.  
  
It makes Villa turn on his heels and find another table to finish his work on. A brief glance to the counter tells him that Leo’s not there; neither is the other guy (Kun, Villa keeps reminding himself, Leo’d said his name was Kun). The one who usually sets the kitchen on fire is leaning on his elbows, looking at him with a serene smile. Villa coughs.  
  
 _Well, this is awkward_ , he thinks, sets down his bag and walks over. “Can you manage a decaf?” he asks, forehead in frown lines.  
  
“Leo’s not here,” the guy says.  
  
Villa blinks. “That’s not what I asked. I just asked for a decaf.”  
  
“It’ll be right over,” the other winks, wipes his floury hands on is striped apron and fumbles with the espresso machine. His touch is much more practised and what comes out at the end of it, placed in front of Villa while he slides over some change, looks and smells much more like the coffee Villa knows and loves.  
  
“Thanks,” he utters, turns around and finds the tall guy sitting at his table now, looking at him expectantly. Villa stops short. “This isn’t funny, you know?” he tells him, growing impatient with annoyance and puts his cup down on the table with force, sitting down. “Do you mind? I’ve got things to do.”  
  
Villa tries to be friendly about it. Mostly because Xavi always tells him to be friendlier, because he always goes on about how one should treat others like one would like to be treated. But the guy doesn’t budge an inch, just keeps sitting and keeps staring and so Villa stares back to spite him, friendliness be damned, but this is some fucking intrusion of privacy. They stay that way for roughly a few minutes, Villa guesses, and he’s not proud to admit that he snaps first.  
  
“What?” he asks, almost barks. “Did you escape some mental institution?”  
  
The guy moves, shrugs, smiles as if Villa had just asked him how he was doing. “Nah, just visiting Leo,” and Villa admits that suddenly, it all makes a little more sense. He should’ve known that Leo collects these nutcases like marbles. He doesn’t have to understand it, why Leo seems to have taken a liking with taking in weird strays, or having weird friends. Villa absentmindedly wonders what that says about him.  
  
“Good for you. Still, what do you want? I need to work.”  
  
His teeth are unnaturally white. “Oh, go on, don’t mind me,” he grins. “I’m Piqué, by the way.”  
  
Villa asks himself when he took a wrong turn in his life and says, “I do mind. _Piqué_.”  
  
That seems to finally deflate his enthusiasm a little and Piqué gets up, huffs and mutters, “Leo totally lied. You’re not fun at all.” Then he saunters over to the kitchen. “Oi, Pipita, what kind of devilish treats are you making today?” And the door falls shut behind him.  
  
Villa sighs and gets on with work.  
  
  
  
  
“Is he an ex?” Villa asks Leo the next time he sees him. “Piqué? Because he’s annoying as hell, but also freakishly good-looking and I guess I’d understand. Not that it’s my business.”  
  
Leo blinks at him for a moment. There’s some icing sugar on the corner of his mouth from the pastry he’s been forced to try and it’s kind of driving Villa crazy that he can’t stretch out his arm and wipe it off. “My ex is dead,” he says then and Villa feels like a dick.  
  
“Oh. What happened?”  
  
“Tragic accident,” Leo replies and – smiles?  
  
“I’m sorry,” Villa says, because it’s polite.  
  
  


 

***

  
  
  
Leo remembers the day Lucifer fell. He remembers the war in heaven and slaying his own brothers because his Father had commanded it and Leo hadn’t known about _choice_ back then. What Leo wants to remember is pain and agony – what he does remember is emptiness and complete indifference. Now he finds it ironic that he’d never noticed how perfectly thought out He had been in His creation of their kind. Leo had obedience plastered onto his soul before he’d opened his eyes for the very first time. He’d been unable to question and scrutinize.  
  
Lucifer had been the first to doubt. Lucifer, the morning star, the shining one, the unmatched favourite. Leo can’t recall the exact wording of the matter, he hadn’t been made to pay attention to anything that wasn’t his concern, but now he would probably say that Lucifer called their Father out on his bullshit. That he’d dared to demand answers and justice and an explanation as to why he’d been created for no other purpose than to serve – even serve and worship those inferior things He’d given the entire world to.  
  
It’d opened Leo’s eyes.  
  
As much as Lucifer had always been their Father’s favourite until his fall – Leo had been his. “So very talented, baby brother,” he used to say to him. “Such an agile mind, such an inspiring soul. And what a waste,” and he’d stroked a finger down Leo’s throat, leaving a sensation behind he hadn’t known until this moment. “You shouldn’t serve anyone. You were destined to rule.”  
  
Lucifer had planted the seed of doubt and Leo guesses some could argue that he could be the one held responsible for Leo’s own downfall. But Leo doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t blame himself either.  
  
He blames their Father. He blames the rats that He values above all of them.  
  
Since Leo fell, he’s been down in the pit. First involuntarily, then because he’d wanted to. It’s kind of how he picked up Kun and Gonzalo. It’s how he’d found Lucifer, or rather, what’s still left of him and all their brothers who’d fallen with him. It’s frightening, even to him, to see what the pit turns perfect souls into. Once in a while, Leo will wonder if he should tell Kun and Gonzalo how they’d been before, who they had once been, because they don’t remember, but then Leo decides that it’s a good thing they don’t.  
  
He sighs and lets his fingertips drum against the shiny surface of the countertop he’s sitting on in the kitchen. The air is heavy with dust and dim light and clouds of flour. It smells burnt and Leo thinks that Gonzalo does it because it reminds him of the pit. He’s getting scarily good at this though, Leo has to admit. He’d nicked the last piece of cheesecake the day before and maybe he’s starting to understand why they’d picked this place and maybe he’s starting to resent it a bit less. But still – Leo’s having a bad day and he doesn’t have many good ones, no amount of pastries Gonzalo pushes his way will change that, and sometimes he wants to set this city on fire and burn it down to the ground.  
  
  
  
  
Sometimes Leo hates the world. He hates it and the scum that inhabits it.  
  
  
  
  
Kun is cold. His hands are freezing, and Leo doesn’t particularly like the feeling, but after… well, a few hundred years already, he is used to it, and he doesn’t mind it so much anymore. Kun is draped over his back, fingers playing with the hem of Leo’s t-shirt, icy breath close to his ear. It’s the middle of the night, and they’re perched on the very top of the _Sagrada Família_. If Pep is really watching Leo’s every move, he might as well spite him a little.  
  
“They’re really simple though, aren’t they?” Kun asks and Leo needs a moment to remember what they’d been talking about before. “Why do you bother with them?”  
  
Leo looks up at the sky, full of clouds, sniffs the air and wonders if he could make it snow. “They can be entertaining,” he answers. “If you know what to do with them. I can appear in their dreams, I can make them believe certain things, I can twist their minds into whatever I want them to be like.”  
  
“It’s that what you’re planning to do to Villa?”  
  
Leo stills. “You know, most cherubs and seraphim are incredibly dull too. Only a few have actually managed to be more than just a simple tool He can utilise. There are even fewer people whose minds are too complex to be easily manipulated. You have to find other means to engage them for your own purpose.”  
  
Kun’s lips are icy against the skin behind his ear, on the curve of his throat, teeth sharp, scraping. “And what are those means?”  
  
Leo hums a quiet laugh, angles his head to meet Kun’s eyes over his shoulder. They are shining in a blistering black, holding the depths of hell. “I think you know,” he says, and makes them disappear into thin air.  
  
  
  
  
You might think that having lived for countless millennia would make the matter of time seemingly insignificant. But Leo does not have a lot of patience. In fact, he has very little. He likes playing games and the game he is playing right now is one of his favourites. There is a lot to learn about people by seducing them and it requires all the patience Leo can muster per usual. For him, the pleasures of the flesh are a minor side effect, agreeable but superfluous. But it is just so fascinating to see people’s souls come undone behind their eyes in the moment of their climax and how all their defences are blown to smithereens by a few well-placed and yet utterly simple touches.  
  
And Leo is good at it. He’s had enough time to study people, to figure out what makes them tick and this boyish and pale body he’s made for himself comes in handy. Women will think him to be sensitive; men will assume that he’s submissive. But they’re all at his mercy and he is always in control.  
  
Leo has control of this situation too. Yet he is still running out of patience. It’s been a few weeks and he’s danced around Villa, lured him in; stuttering breath, dilated pupils, it’s all coming together. Villa is keeping his distance though, a narrow one, but a distance nonetheless and Leo’s analysed it, of course he has; unusual attachment to his friend Xavi, damaged by previous relationships, resulting in hesitancy concerning the more intimate matters of building attraction. Leo guesses he could just move on, find someone else to tinker with, but – he doesn’t give up.  
  
And he wants Villa, for reasons he can’t quite explain, but he does want him and Leo plans to have him. He has never failed and this won’t turn out to be the first time.  
  
He refuses to be a failure.  
  
He reaches that conclusion when it’s already been dark for hours and he’s in the coffee shop on his own. Fuck knows what Gonzalo and Kun are up to when they’re not here – which is rare. They’ve locked down a while ago and Leo isn’t doing anything in particular. The place is weirdly soothing when it’s without light, entirely empty. Leo might not like the taste of coffee, but the smell of ground beans is something he’s grown used to over the past couple of weeks.  
  
There’s a knock on the door and Leo looks up. Villa is standing on the other side, drenched by the rain that is still falling outside (it has been raining for almost two days now, and Leo doesn’t like to get wet). Leo walks over and unlocks the door, opens it just a few inches.  
  
“Please tell me you’re still open,” Villa says with a raspy voice. He looks unusually pale and insanely tired.  
  
“The lights are off,” Leo replies as an explanation and Villa’s shoulders sag a little. He seems beat.  
  
“Yeah I just,” Villa sighs and pauses slightly, shrugging. “Look, I’m probably imposing, but I’ve had an absolutely awful day at Xavi’s, trying to get him to do anything besides lying around, I haven’t slept in two days, I’m all out of coffee and every shop is closed. Well, yours is too. I just – I don’t know.”  
  
And just like that, Leo sniffs his chance. “Well, I don’t know about the coffee. But Pipita made some cheesecake earlier. There’s still some left.”  
  
He opens the door wider, just enough for Villa to squeeze through with a rare smile, brushing Leo as he enters and Leo gets a whiff of that intriguing soul boiling beneath a solid but slowly crumbling surface. He locks up again and watches as Villa runs a hand through his damp hair, turns around and he seems unsure of himself, an odd thing considering Villa’s usual confidence.  
  
Leo nods towards the kitchen. “This way,” he says and makes a point of running his hand down Villa’s arm as he passes him.  
  
Hesitant at first, but then solid steps follow Leo behind the counter and into the kitchen where there’s still an array of baked goods on the table, neatly wrapped in cling film. Gonzalo used to throw them away before he’d discovered – to Leo’s shame – that Leo had taken a liking to the particularly creamy ones; like cheesecake, or puffs, or éclairs (fucking éclairs, Leo would happily kill for those). He gets two spoons, hands one to Villa, and unwraps the cheesecake.  
  
Leo eats a spoonful – and damn him if Gonzalo isn’t getting really fucking good at this – and licks the remnants of the edges, aware of Villa’s eyes following his every movement. “You said Xavi isn’t well. That’s a shame. When I last saw him, he seemed in high spirits. Is he ill?”  
  
Villa drops his coat on one of the stools surrounding the table and stabs at the cake with his spoon, frowning. “Not really. I mean, I don’t know. If he is ill, then no doctor has any clue as to what’s going on.”  
  
“Mental illnesses are hard to diagnose,” Leo shrugs. He knows what’s going on with Xavi, but he still needs to keep up appearances in front of Villa.  
  
“I guess,” and Leo watches Villa’s brows furrow from across the table. “But – he’s always been fine. It just makes no sense.”  
  
“Things don’t always have to make sense to be true. They just exist and it doesn’t matter whether we can comprehend it or not.”  
  
Villa stills and looks at him with mild amusement. “And here I was, thinking you were an atheist.”  
  
Leo places his hands flat on the chrome surface, smudges a bit of cream cheese onto it, and leans in with a twitch of his lips. “And why would you think that?” he asks, perfectly aware that for the day, he’d chosen a shirt with _I believe in God, only I spell it Nature_ printed on it. “I simply enjoy a bit of irony.” He tilts his head. “And maybe there is nothing wrong with Xavi at all. Maybe he’s just trying to understand something he isn’t supposed to grasp at all.”  
  
“What are you saying?” Villa questions.  
  
“Not much,” Leo replies nonchalantly. “The mind is a fragile thing, you know? Mechanisms can be triggered. Some can destroy us; some are made to protect.”  
  
Villa huffs out a dry laugh, shakes his head to himself. “Are you a psychologist in your spare time?” he asks and maybe this conversation is rubbing him the wrong way, but Leo finds the atmosphere between them to be quite comfortable still.  
  
“I took classes in behavioural psychology at Cambridge,” he answers truthfully, keeping the tiny detail of that happening a few decades ago to himself. “And I visited a few seminars on theology.”  
  
“Oh. Wouldn’t have thought. Is that’s why you’re wearing these?” and Villa gestures vaguely at Leo’s t-shirt.  
  
“No,” Leo says, shakes his head, can’t help but smile softly. “Like I said, I enjoy a bit of irony.”  
  
“So you _do_ believe in God?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“But you said –” Villa starts, confused, but Leo interrupts him.  
  
“I said I’m not an atheist. That doesn’t mean I necessarily _believe_ in God. As I said… I don’t need to believe, or understand, or grasp something for it to be true. To be real. Perhaps I know there is a God. It doesn’t make a difference whether I want to believe in him or not. Hell, he might be an idiot for all I know. Why would I believe in an idiot?”  
  
It makes Villa laugh and shake his head again, and Leo finds himself oddly pleased at the view of it. He wants to trace off his smile and keep it to brighten the days he feels darkness creep up on him because – well, he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t care.  
  
“Fuck, you really –” Villa starts and looks up, eyes shining despite the semi-darkness of the room. “You kind of freak me out. Sometimes. Or maybe most of the time. You say stuff like that and I – I don’t know.”  
  
“I haven’t said half the things I want to say to you, _David_.”  
  
And the mood shifts. Leo is still leaning slightly across the table and he sees Villa’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. He knows that Villa never utilises his first name, not since his relationship with Silva, with whom he’d shared said name. It had complicated matters and they’d made a habit of simply using their surnames when introducing themselves to new people. Even after the break-up, it’d stuck. The only people who ever call him by his first name are his parents. And Silva. Leo isn’t supposed to know this, but he knows of the effect it has on Villa.  
  
“And what would those be?” Villa asks, mirroring Leo’s stance, leaning in, trying to overplay the tremble in his shoulder by a confident posture.  
  
“Hm,” Leo pretends to mull over it. “At first, I’d probably say that I have wanted to undress you since the first moment I saw you,” and he has to hand it to Villa, if he is thrown off balance by that statement, he doesn’t show it, but he leans closer, and so does Leo. “The things I’ve imagined, the things I have imagined doing to you… I want to trace every inch of you with my lips and I want to test every edge of your body with my teeth.”  
Leo can feel Villa’s breath, hot and heavy, against his face, against his lips, he’s close and his eyes are deep and Leo can see himself in them, in a distorted, crooked reflection.  
“Do you want me to tell you a secret?”  
  
Villa nods almost imperceptibly, gaze dropping to Leo’s lips. He licks them, puts the last nail into the coffin.  
  
“I want to get under your skin,” he breathes, and watches as the last piece of Villa’s inhibition falls. Leo can almost hear it shatter on the floor.  
  
There could be a more elegant way of doing this, but as you know, Leo isn’t one of the patient kind. It’s not how he’d imagined it to happen either, but Leo’s always liked spontaneity. He enjoys seizing unexpected opportunities. And damn him if he doesn’t take this one.  
  
Leo climbs up and clambers across the table. It shakes and trembles and an array of plates slides off it and smashes onto the ground. Pastries filled with cream burst and the white content sloshes over dark tiles with a slurp. Cutlery clatters and broken glass clinks and Leo relishes the gasp that escaped Villa’s lips as their bodies collide. He swings his legs off the table and comes to stand trapped between the countertop and Villa who is hot, burning hot, such a contrast, so different that for the fracture of a second, Leo almost feels dizzy.  
  
He shakes it off, focuses, on the body pressed against his, on the arms framing him against the table and the bare, pale throat that is right there in front of him, so Leo attacks it with his lips, his teeth, nibs at the skin in the hollow just below Villa’s jaw. He feels the groan against his mouth more than he can hear it. Leo licks a trail along the curve of Villa’s throat and to his ear.  
  
“There are so many things I want to tell you,” he whispers, tugging on his earlobe, dragging his nose through narrowly cut hair. “There a so many things I want to show you.”  
  
A bold hand grabs the back of his neck, and Leo actually startles. Villa tilts his head back and their eyes lock. “Why don’t you start now?”  
  
Leo has never been kissed before. Not on the lips. Not like that. There’s never been a need for that. It’s never been about that. But now Villa’s lips descend on his, slightly chapped yet soft, firm, persistent, open and Leo feels his chest grow tight. There’s an unimaginable weight dragging on his limbs, making it hard to move, to breathe, to bloody _think_ and it’s almost as though two souls were living inside of him, fighting for the upper hand. Leo wants nothing more than to pull Villa closer, to taste every fragment of his mouth. Leo wants nothing more that to push Villa away, regain control and lead the way.  
  
Blindly, Leo grabs Villa’s jumper and yanks at it with enough force to make Villa stop and step back, take it off and Leo shudders as he regulates his breath. Before the other can kiss him again, Leo rips off his own shirt and dives for Villa’s belt. He works with quick movements, erratic almost, doesn’t want to give Villa a chance to smother him with his humanness. He yanks off the belt, tugs at the buttons only to find himself getting pushed back against the edge of the table once more.  
  
Leo doesn’t hesitate to push himself up into a sitting position. He urges Villa close, grabs his shoulders and grinds their hips together, buries his teeth in the crook of his neck while trying to simultaneously shimmy out of his jeans. Villa get the hint, hooks his fingers into both waistbands and pulls, Leo only having to lift his hips slightly before the annoying layers of fabric are gone. Another two, three tugs, and Villa is hot against Leo’s thigh.  
  
It’s the temperature of Villa’s body, Leo is sure of that, it must be, the unfamiliar warmth, the huge contrast to Kun and Gonzalo and _everyone_ , because he finds himself suppressing another shudder, another itch crawling its way up his spine in a sneaky attempt to throw him off, to make him lose his focus. He shifts again, moves his legs tighter around Villa’s waist, pushes his heels into the small of his back.  
  
Leo wants him to be fast and erratic and _brutal_ , he wants Villa to lose himself and to let the fuck go of everything that is holding him back until there is nothing left but raw instinct and the nudity of his soul.  
  
He can already feel it crackling beneath his fingertips.  
  
Leo urges Villa on, silently, forcefully, doesn’t allow him to hesitate for a single second because that’s past them and he’s decided that Villa doesn’t get to decide, he doesn’t get to set the pace, it’s Leo who holds the strings and he holds them tightly as he winds his arms firmly around Villa’s neck, digs his nails into soft skin and lets his teeth follow. Groans echo hollow through the empty room and Leo feels his body react, feels the slide of wet skin and heated breath on his face when Villa pushes closer on his own accord.  
  
The surface of the table is sharp and cold against Leo’s back. Villa brackets his head with his arms, touches their foreheads together and Leo wants to curse human nature, their bloody sentiments, their inability to let go of their emotions and seek intimacy when there is simply no need for it.  
  
Leo knows Villa can see nothing in his eyes and he can assess that it vexes him for a brief moment, but it comes in handy that in spite of claiming otherwise, humans are ruled by sensations flowing through their bodies and not by logical thought. This physical act clouds Villa’s mind almost instantly and Leo is perfectly aware of how he has to move to make him lose his rationality entirely. He rolls his hips and angles his body, runs his hands along hot and firm flesh that he can feel twitching and quivering beneath his fingers.  
  
The pace he picks up, the pace Villa thinks he is setting but is actually the one Leo wants; it’s just fast enough, it’s just on that bittersweet side of hard, quenching all unnecessary air out of Leo’s body. It – surprises Leo. Takes him a little off guard considering the sudden intensity and he doesn’t know whether that’s down to the increasing rhythm of their hips moving together or the mix of temperatures or the fact that Villa is still framing his face, almost cradling his head in such a contrasting gentle fashion. He arches his back, involuntarily creating more friction, Villa’s moan grumbling deep in his throat, vibrating against Leo’s own. Head still held in place, he’s too out of it to move it to the side and Villa dives for his mouth again, drags his tongue along Leo’s lips and pulls at them softly.  
  
Leo chokes on something stuck in his throat, something that’s still clogging his chest, grappling his ribcage and this doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel wrong per se, but it’s not, and Leo can’t tell, and his head is swimming and maybe it’s Villa’s bloody sentiment flooding and washing over his mind. Maybe he’s adapting too much, has been stuck down here for too long and something was bound to rub off on him and fucking hell, he wants it to stop but he doesn’t and if this is what being a person feels like, then Leo is going to make sure to feel sorry for them for a moment when he’s gotten through this.  
  
Instead of seeing Villa crumble, Leo can feel sensations _drowning_ him, breath short and stagnant against Villa’s lips. It’s a relief almost painful in its intensity when Leo throws his head back before his body goes numb and limp. He only vaguely notices Villa’s teeth on his neck, biting down sharply, and then his body collapses, drapes over Leo’s and it’s suddenly eerily silent, numbingly quiet.  
  
Leo can barely catch his breath, which is ironic, since he doesn’t even need it. He can’t find his voice, can’t organise his mind, and can’t control his arms that are encircling Villa’s shoulders without thinking. There are lips still resting in the hollow of his throat.  
  
He feels warm.  
  
  
  
  
“You couldn’t have done it some place else?” Gonzalo complains the next day. “You had to do it in my bloody kitchen?”  
  
Leo doesn’t feel like pointing out that technically, it’s not Gonzalo’s kitchen. Instead, he pokes his tongue at him and saunters out.  
  
His knees still feel strangely weak.  
  
  


 

***

  
  
  
“Please tell me this won’t be awkward.”  
  
Villa is no expert in sleeping around. Despite what other people might assume, he just doesn’t do it. He has the opportunity, here and there, once in a while, but it’s just more convenient for him not to give in. He’s a workaholic, he’s not easy to get along with and he’s only ever felt really drawn to a handful of people. He tries not to think about the fact that it never ended particularly well. He tries not to think about endings at all.  
  
Now he doesn’t even know how this _thing_ with Leo started. They’d sat in the dark kitchen for a while after… well. And his departure hadn’t felt forced or awkward at all, but it’s been two days since and Villa isn’t sure how to act around Leo, so he decided that the only way to go about it is to directly address it. They’re all adults here. They can talk about it.  
  
“Why would it be awkward?” Leo asks, sitting down in his usual chair opposite Villa as if nothing had ever happened between them.  
  
“I don’t know,” Villa replies. “You tell me.”  
  
“There’s nothing to tell.”  
  
“Okay, good.”  
  
“Good,” Leo smiles, leans in and Villa has a rather intimate flash of déjà-vu. “Because wouldn’t it be a shame if we couldn’t repeat our little… _tête-à-tête_.”  
  
Villa can’t but return it. “What a shame indeed.”  
  
And maybe that’s how it starts.  
  
  
  
  
Villa gets his more urgent work done over the next few days. He lives off some instant coffee that’s almost as bad as the stuff Kun makes, meets his editor for lunch to decide on a final title for his next book, does some much needed grocery shopping, gets his boiler fixed and soaks in a wonderfully hot bathtub for two hours. He falls asleep and only wakes up when he droops forward into the water, face first, and splutters. After that, Villa makes sure to have at least two early nights and switch to decaf in the afternoon. He calls Xavi every day, of course he does, to at least make sure he drags his sorry ass far enough out of bed to get his phone, also forces him to agree to have dinner outside their respective flats the following week. All in all, Villa feels rather pleased with himself.  
  
When Villa returns to the coffee shop, Kun continues to grin at him like a maniac, and Villa wonder if he gets some sick pleasure from watching him twist his face in disgust and yet still empty the cup. Leo only walks in when Villa has been sitting in his usual spot for a bit more than an hour, on his third cup already (because that stuff might be disgusting, but it’s addictive as fuck). He looks… well, not too well; Villa has to admit. He seems stressed, but his eyes find Villa almost as soon as he enters. He sinks down opposite him with a groan.  
  
“Everything okay?” Villa feels inclined to ask as Leo puts his feet clad in worn out sneakers up on the table and pulls his jacket up to cover his face. It probably shouldn’t, but to Villa, it looks incredibly endearing.  
  
“No,” Leo answers honestly, voice muffled by his jacket. “I really want to kill someone.”  
  
“Sorry, can’t help you with that,” Villa shrugs. “But you guys got some pretty decent white chocolate muffins today. Maybe that’ll cheer you up.”  
  
Leo drops his hands and thus his jacket from his face, blinks at him a couple of time before letting his head fall back against the backrest of his armchair. “Oh, bless him,” he sighs, then stops short and sits up straight again. He laughs. Villa can’t quite follow. “Oi, Pipita,” Leo calls out, twisting his neck to face the counter and door to the kitchen and the addressee pokes his head in. “I said _bless you_.”  
  
Pipita barks out a laugh and Villa wonders if that’s an inside joke he isn’t getting. “That’s a weird nickname,” he comments though, because it’s just something that caught his attention, much like Kun.  
  
Leo shows him a lopsided grin. “He picked it. Because he liked it. He doesn’t like being called Gonzalo,” he explains. “Leo isn’t my real name either.”  
  
“Seriously? Then what is?”  
  
Leo laughs again, lips parting, teeth shining white. “Oh, I’m not telling you. I want to keep some of the mystery alive.”  
  
Villa takes his time to look at him; at the slouchy leather jacket Leo’s wearing on top of a t-shirt that has some atheist slur printed on it again (he can’t read it, because of the jacket, but he knows it’s there), his ripped jeans and old sneakers and his floppy hair falling into his eyes, brushing around a young and lively face with eyes darker than Villa’s ever seen. And he remembers how Leo looks without too-big layers covering his pale and frankly flawless body, how his skin had glistened with sweat, his mouth slack, his lips red and his teeth sharp. It’s such a stark contrast and Villa has no idea what’s in between; if there even is one.  
  
“Believe me,” he says. “I think you’ll remain a mystery to me.”  
  
And judging by the sly smile, it’s exactly what Leo wants.  
  
  
  
  
They stay behind in the dimly lit kitchen after the shop closes and Pipita and Kun have vanished so quickly as if they’d disappeared into thin air. Villa sits on the floor, back propped up against a cupboard, and Leo is right next to him, plastered to his side, bodies touching from ankle to shoulder. All that’s left of the muffins are some crumbs on a plate that’s set down on Leo’s legs. It’s weirdly peaceful.  
  
They repeat it every night after that. Villa will come just before Kun locks up and he and Leo will sit in the kitchen, divide the results of Pipita’s baking experiments between then. Sometimes, he’ll wipe a bit of cream off Leo’s face and then give in to the tension that continues to linger between them and do things that make his toes curls and his breath hitch and every fucking fibre in his body burn.  
  
And it’s good. Their late night rendezvous’ start to be what Villa looks forward to most.  
  
  
  
  
Sometimes, Villa will wake up in the morning and wonder if he’s imagining it all.  
  
  


 

***

  


  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS/DISCLAIMER: Same as before.

 

***

 

 

  
_When the unclean spirit has gone out of a person, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, but finds none._

**Matthew 12:43**   


  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
He meets Piqué for a second time when the obnoxiously tall guy corners him as soon as he’s set foot inside the coffee shop. Villa finds him fishy, he can’t help it; what dude wears white jeans and a white jumper as a combo anyway? Piqué leans forward in the chair Leo usually occupies, elbows on his knees and a frown plastered onto his face.  
  
“So,” he says.  
  
Villa just raises his eyebrows in reply and gives him The Eye.  
  
“You and Leo, huh?” Piqué elaborates and winks at him. “I guess you guys…” and he leaves it open, presumably because he wants Villa to finish it for him.  
  
Villa doesn’t do him that favour. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”  
  
“Leo is my business.”  
  
“Since when?”  
  
“Since I made him my business,” Piqué says solidly. “We go way back, Leo and I. Way back. I don’t know if you’re sticking around, if you’re planning to and for how long. But I just wanted to give you a piece of advice.”  
  
“How kind,” Villa can’t help but comment dryly, waves at Kun to signal him in some way that he’s having his usual, because he fears that if he attempts to get up now, Piqué is not above tackling him to the ground.  
  
“You’ll thank me later,” Piqué insists with a serious expression. “I just want to let you know that… he might not seem like it, but Leo hasn’t had it easy, okay? So if you’re planning on breaking his heart – just don’t.”  
  
“Breaking his…” Villa trails off. “What? Why? What do you take me for?”  
  
“I’m just saying,” and Piqué winks at Kun as he sets down coffee in front of Villa. “It might get rough if you do.”  
  
“Rough,” Villa repeats and has a big gulp of his coffee that almost burns his throat because he fears a lack of caffeine might have him hallucinating. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Villa startles so much he almost drops his cup. He catches it, but he spills about half of the content of his shoes. But Leo isn’t talking to him, he’s fixed Piqué with an icy stare and a soft tilt of his head.  
  
“Just giving your boyfriend a piece of mind.”  
  
Leo says “He’s not my –” at the same time as Villa utters “I’m not his –” and if it wasn’t awkward between them before, it kind of is now and Villa finds himself staring at Leo and Leo is staring back, and it feels like there’s a silent conversation passing between them but Villa doesn’t understand a single thing Leo is trying to tell him.  
  
Piqué just shrugs, gets up, says “Whatever”, and ruffles Leo’s hair on his way out.  
  
Villa and Leo reach the silent agreement to not talk about it.  
  
  
  
  
Leo’s mood swings confuse him. He can be perfectly cheerful one day and then, without giving Villa the slightest hint as to why, downright miserable the next. There is a pattern to how Kun and Gonzalo act around their friend and it seems established, like a routine, like they know exactly what’s wrong and how best to deal with it. Gonzalo will feed Leo; will push plate after plate of chocolate chip cookies and cream puffs towards him. Kun will lean into Leo’s personal space (something Gonzalo is somehow not allowed to do, but Villa has stopped trying to understand the dynamics of their friendship) and talk to him in a hushed voice, just continuously talk, presumably trying to distract Leo or cheer him up.  
  
Villa doesn’t know what his role is supposed to be in this – if he’s supposed to have one at all. He doesn’t know Leo that well, has no clue how to get to know him better and he feels kind of pathetic because of it. He is not a teenager anymore, hasn’t been for a while, he’s a grown man, a published and prize-winning author and his books are being translated into thirty different languages. Villa is successful and independent and Leo shouldn’t make him feel insecure.  
  
And okay, maybe it’s not insecurity what Villa is feeling, but he has no idea how else to describe it. Leo is most likely in his early twenties, can’t be older than that, but he has to be some sort of genius, some unmatched wunderkind and he makes Villa guess constantly; guess why he runs this coffee shop when he’s clearly got more potential than anyone Villa’s ever met (combined), why he has these mood swings, why Villa is interested in him and why Leo is interested in _him_ even more. There’s not a lot that makes sense when it comes to this – whatever between them.  
  
But maybe that’s it. And maybe Leo is right and things don’t have to make sense to be real. Because clearly Leo’s gotten into Villa’s head and there aren’t many people who’ve ever managed that.  
  
It only dawns on Villa that he’s become part of a routine too when they’re sitting in the kitchen with no lights on, legs stretched out in front of them, and Leo’s head suddenly drops onto his shoulder.  
  
“You know,” Villa says. “I don’t like it when you’re all gloomy. I prefer you telling me your weird little stories that kind of freak me out sometimes.”  
  
“I don’t have many stories left,” Leo answers and his cold breath sends a shiver down Villa’s spine.  
  
“I thought you were full of them.”  
  
“I am. But some stories are secrets,” Leo explains quietly. “And some stories aren’t mine to tell.”  
  
“Can I ask you something then?” And then Leo raises his head and eyes him curiously, so Villa takes that as a hint to continue. “I’ve been thinking. You said you don’t believe in God. You said you’re not an atheist. So I assume you still think there is one. Why not believe in him then? I’ve never met anyone who thought God existed and still wasn’t religious.”  
  
“Do you know the story of Job?” Leo replies with a question, but is quick to continue. “He was a good man, always devoted and obedient and unwavering in his belief. And one day, Lucifer visited God and they wagered a bet. Lucifer would take everything Job had ever loved and owned and he’d win if Job would repent his beliefs. God allowed Lucifer to make Job suffer greatly and that whole ordeal is only bequeathed, because of course Job bowed before God and his love grew even stronger.” He huffs out a raspy laugh. “All’s well that ends well they say, but how come nobody sees how cruel God really is? How He plays with everything He’s ever created? What if Job had cursed Him? Then Lucifer would have taken his soul and I doubt God would have done much to save him.”  
  
Villa is no expert on biblical stories, but he thinks he faintly remembers this one. Leo’s face is motionless. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”  
  
“Nobody ever thinks of it as that way,” Leo says and he sounds oddly bitter. “It takes two to play a game, doesn’t it? I don’t believe in God because I think He is cruel and selfish. And he doesn’t care.” He pulls on a loose thread on his jeans, pulls with force until it snaps. “You want me to tell another story? I will tell you a story,” and Villa wonders if he should’ve kept quiet, if he’s upset Leo unintentionally, but he thinks it might do Leo good to let off some steam, even if that’s just by talking.  
  
“In the moment of creation,” Leo begins, “God separated light and darkness and amidst all of it, he forged heavenly beings. Most were fragments of light, some he formed out of threads of his own soul. There were few but those were the highest of the angels and they were all His servants, faithful and obedient and all was well until God created Man and He commanded his angels to be the servants of mankind also. He had bestowed Man with the gift of the free will, but his angels had been born without, so they did the only thing they knew – they obeyed. One of the angels was named Azrael and he had been born out of God’s wrath to rain punishment upon those who abused the gift God had granted. He made it rain for forty days and forty nights; he destroyed the tower of Babel; he killed the firstborns of Egypt – all because God commanded it. Azrael saw that mankind was flawed in comparison with his own, yet he did not question his Father’s intentions. But there was one of them, the brightest and most powerful of their kind, who did. And when he refused to continue to serve and demanded to be granted what God had so easily given Man… God punished him and all those who dared to agree. And so he banished them from the high sphered and tossed them into an abyss filled with darkness and agony and he put them in chains to suffer for their disobedience until the end of days.”  
  
Villa looks at Leo. The other is staring off into space, face partially concealed by shadows thrown over it. “That’s the story of the devil, right? There are interpretations that he was just a fallen angel,” but Leo raises his hand, then, almost in an afterthought, drops it on Villa’s thigh and Villa can’t do anything but grasp it tightly because – he’s not sure. He just wants to.  
  
“Azrael had not rebelled like others, yet he mourned for his lost brother. He knew of mankind’s failings, of their complacency and he too started to doubt. But Azrael remained faithful, because he loved God and he wanted to believe that He was just. Many centuries passed, only a short while in the wider frame of time Azrael had known, and God decided that he would no longer need Azrael, that he wanted to cease vengeance and leave mankind to find its own justice. Azrael remembered his brother and how cruel God had been then and he was angry and taken with grief at the injustice that had befallen them and he asked himself how their Father could be so merciful with these lower beings and look upon them with so much scorn. And Azrael took his sword and he lead many armies into war against each other before the gates of Jerusalem to show his Father that these people were undeserving of his love and his forgiveness.”  
  
“The crusades,” Villa realises. “Let me guess. That didn’t work out too well for him, did it?”  
  
“Indeed,” Leo says. “God ordered Azrael to kneel in front of Him and He took his sword, and so his Father cast him out much like his brother before him. He had His archangels cripple Azrael’s grace so that he would never be able to set foot into heaven again. Azrael fell, and he fell deep and he never found his way back home.”  
  
Leo’s knuckles are white where they’re wound around Villa’s hand. Villa suddenly has a weird feeling in the pit of him stomach and can’t shake it off.  
  
  
  
  
For some reason, Villa finds himself unable to let go of Leo’s hand, to leave him behind in the dark and empty place with just cups and baking trays to keep him company. And perhaps this isn’t part of their routine, perhaps this takes them outside the boundaries they have quietly laid out; Villa might be a bit of a dick from time to time, but he’s not a complete asshole. So he pulls Leo with him when he gets up, leaves the kitchen, and walks out onto the street. Leo lets himself be dragged along, quiet and in an even fouler mood than before (and yes Villa does blame himself for that because he’s got the tactfulness of a hippopotamus) and Villa is glad he only lives around the corner and up the next road.  
  
His flat is much tidier than it usually is since he hasn’t spent a lot of time there as of late, but Villa doesn’t switch on the lights, just tugs Leo along towards his bedroom, shrugging off his jacket on the way. He kicks off his shoes, watches as Leo pauses to stare at him, then he mirrors Villa who lets himself collapse on his bed. He feels heavy and tired in an instant, like his body is desperately trying to claw back all the sleep it’s been deprived of lately. Blinking, he makes out Leo’s eyes in the dark, almost swallowing up any traces of natural light that are falling through the window. He’s come to rest on his stomach, head turned towards Villa, watching him. His forehead is slightly creased in – wonder, confusion?  
  
Villa can’t decide what it is. He closes his eyes and falls asleep in a second.  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
People imagine it to be a sea of flames, an endless fire; scarlet tongues licking and red-skinned demons with hoofs and pitchforks. They imagine heat and ash and clouds of sulphur rising to drench everything in a disgusting odour. He has seen drawings and paintings of Renaissance masters and illustrations in the Bible, but they don’t come close to reality. And how could they? If any human would ever set foot into hell, he wouldn’t live to tell the tale.  
  
In reality, it’s not hot, and there is no fire, just endless darkness and it’s so cold it even chills Leo to the bones. It is so cold that it’s _burning_ , and maybe that’s where those images come from. There is a certain smell in the air; the smell of souls slowly crumbling and churning and disintegrating with frost, and Leo assumes it does remind him of smoke. There is nowhere to go, no up or down and no way to utilise his senses. Leo has to rely on his memory to move about and although his soul and grace are mostly distorted, they still shine bright enough that he remains unbothered.  
  
He is unaware of the time that passes, unaware of the distance he leaves behind him, but Leo feels when he gets close, the slight tension in the still air, like delicate bursts of electricity moving around like thread to create disturbances – chains. They’re invisible to any eye but His, but they are there, and they have held his brother in place for millennia.  
  
“I did not expect another visit from you so soon,” he says and his voice echoes around endlessly, obscuring words and making it difficult to decipher them, difficult to hold a proper conversation, but that’s kind of the point. “Or did I miscalculate?”  
  
Leo shakes his head, dodging the chains that could even cut into _his_ skin, and moves closer. “It’s been two months or so. Am I not allowed to come see you as often as I please?”  
  
His laughter is icy music in Leo’s ears. “You can visit any time, baby brother. You know that. But you usually have something to ask of me. After we spoke last, I thought you’d succeed in undoing His punishment.”  
  
Leo scoffs in frustration, is glad he doesn’t have to meet his eyes. “Pep is watching me too closely. He interfered, again.”  
  
“Naturally. So I assume that little cherub has been welcomed back with open arms in return for remaining a loyal little sheep.” Leo frowns at the thought and folds his arms, but his brother continues. “What are you going to try now?”  
  
“Pep said I should remain on earth and try to redeem myself.”  
  
“Oh, then he knows you very little.”  
  
“Very little indeed,” Leo confirms. “I always thought he knew me better. But I guess he thinks I am as he imagines me to be. And I’m not. I fell, and I changed, and I fear wallowing in the same sphere as humans is making me ill.” He pauses, takes a deep breath and in spite of the darkness surrounding them, he can suddenly feel his brother’s eyes on him as if they were residing in broad daylight. “If Pep, if our Father, thinks that I will just sit and wait and pray for forgiveness…”  
  
“Then they are mistaken?”  
  
“Quite so,” Leo says.  
  
A quiet and raspy chuckle. Leo has missed his humour. “So what now?”  
  
“I’ve decided that I don’t want to redeem myself. I don’t _need_ to redeem myself. And if they think I’d ever want to crawl back to them after what they did to me, then they’re delusional, and they are fools,” and he spits out the words like he wants to spit before his Father’s feet. “I’ve got other ideas.”  
  
“Ah,” his brother says and hums. “I knew there was a reason that you have always been my favourite. He wasted your mind. So creative, so incomparably shrewd and so pleasantly delusive. It would be a true shame if you weren’t to reap your full potential.”  
  
“See, I think so too,” Leo smiles, rubbing his hands together to chase away the numbness spreading from his fingertips.  
  
Silence stretches out between them and that is something else people mistakenly think about hell. They thing there are people burning and thus screaming for mercy, fire crackling and smouldering, the breaking of bones, the slicing of flesh, the spluttering of blood. But there is nothing but silence. It’s so eerily quiet that it seems to be deafening Leo’s ears.  
  
“So this is why you’re here.”  
  
“Well,” Leo says, “after all this time, I though you might appreciate me offering you an outing.”  
  
He can’t see his frown, but Leo knows it’s there. “You can’t free me, baby brother. Although I do appreciate the offer. Very thoughtful. But I fear you’d need your sword for that. And I doubt they would let you get your hands on it.”  
  
“I doubt so too. But you’ve never underestimated me, so please don’t start now. I have someone else in mind who will get his hands on it for me.”  
  
“And what might you do once you have it back?”  
  
Leo feels his own smile growing. He inches closer and drops his voice a notch. “You know, this is kind of the only variable in this idea of mine,” he explains. “I _could_ break these chains after I’ve opened the pit, which I am going to do anyway. But the thing is, you know me, and I know _you_ , and I don’t like to get double-crossed. So I haven’t quite decided yet.”  
  
Laughter echoes around him, almost suffocating and tightening the air. “Oh, you are wonderful,” his brother says. “Just wonderful. Such a beautiful soul. They really did make a mistake in letting you go, baby brother. And yes, you should be careful, because there is no guarantee I can give you now that will ensure absolutely loyalty. But you know that already. So why even tell me?”  
  
Leo shrugs. “Just to give you something to mull over. I don’t value loyalty or empty promises anyway, and I don’t care what you do once I’ve released you as long as you keep out of my way.”  
  
“How do you know I won’t get in your way intentionally?” his brother questions just as Leo is preparing to leave again. His skin feels icy; his lips are chapped by frost.  
  
“Because you want revenge. And you can go ahead, take it, and tear heaven to shreds if you want. I told you I don’t want their forgiveness; I don’t want revenge. I don’t want anything from them.” He turns around, brushes a fingertip across one of the chains spun around this prison like a majestic spider web. It cuts into his flesh, but Leo does not bleed.  
  
“What do you want, if not revenge?” Lucifer calls after him.  
  
“Chaos,” Leo replies quietly. “I want the world to descend in chaos. And I want to watch it while it burns.”  
  
  
  
  
Leo returns before Villa wakes up. He feels cold and yet entirely rejuvenated and he startles Villa awake by tugging at layers and dragging his teeth over warm and soft skin. Hands languidly tangle in his hair and Leo smiles to himself as he directs his lips to lower regions.  
  
  
  
  
“You smell of _him_ ,” Gonzalo says with a frown, sniffing Leo’s neck. “I don’t like it.”  
  
Leo pushes him away. “I don’t care.”  
  
“We do,” Kun interferes. “It’s not good you keep talking to him. He’s evil.”  
  
“What makes you think I’m not?”  
  
“Because you’re not,” Gonzalo tells him. “You want to be, but he actually _is_. He is evil and he is a liar and he is manipulating you.”  
  
Leo narrows his eyes at them. “What makes you think he’s in the position to manipulate me? What makes you think I’m as foolish as you lot? I won’t have you talking to me like this, so be careful. And don’t get in my way,” and he pushes past them into the kitchen, grabs a spoon from a drawer and empties a bowl of freshly made cream in defiance.  
  
  
  
  
Leo decides that he likes the place Villa lives. He likes that is has high ceilings and a lot of windows and big rooms with sliding doors. He likes that the parquet is so old that it creaks with every step and that the walls are all painted in a soft grey. There isn’t a lot of colour in it, but Leo finds that he prefers it that way, because it’s calm and clear and without fuss, doesn’t cluster his already busy mind. There are big leather sofas and shelves full of books, but what Leo likes most about the apartment is that lingering smell of Villa, that subtle scent of his soul in every corner of every room, deeply embedded.  
  
Leo makes it a point of letting Villa know that he likes it, that he enjoys being there and that he prefers it over the coffee shop. He doesn’t mind the shop that much anymore, but he’s getting tired of Kun and Gonzalo throwing concerned looks in his directions, trying to tell him – him of all people – what to do and of reminding them that if it weren’t for him, they’d be decomposing like a rotten corpse in the darkest corners of hell.  
He probably should’ve known better than to expect gratefulness from two disturbingly useless demons.  
  
Villa still insists on his coffee, and Leo is happy to keep stealing Gonzalo’s cakes, so they meet at the coffee shop and head to Villa’s apartment after, spend the evening, mostly spend the night.  
  
It is not common knowledge up there, but Leo has always enjoyed seeking entertainment amongst people (it’s probably the only thing they’re good for anyway). And people used to have more faith back in the days and so most had worked incredibly hard to keep Leo’s attention, to keep his interest engaged, but eventually Leo had gotten bored with all of them. He’d disposed of them quietly enough, had made it part of his job to seek out traitors and punish them to his own liking so that his Father hadn’t had a reason to complain. Since Leo had fallen, he’d gone about as he pleased.  
  
And Leo tells himself that this is exactly what Villa is; someone to occupy himself with while he waits for his plan to unfold and if he is turning out to be different than the others, then that’s not Leo’s fault, and it’s nothing he should worry about. He wonders, absentmindedly, as he strokes his fingers up Villa’s bare back, tracing vertebra for vertebra, how long Villa is going to keep him entertained for. That is all.  
Leo likes the attention Villa gives him, likes the way Villa seems focused on him and the expression in his eyes.  
  
There is just one problem.  
  
“I’m meeting Xavi for dinner tomorrow,” Villa mutters into the pillow, blinking at Leo with one eyes and he stills.  
  
  
  
  
Leo doesn’t like to share. And he doesn’t intend to.  
  
  
  
  
It’s risky business and he’s perfectly aware of it. However, that will make it so much more satisfying when he succeeds in the end, which he will. He just needs to take some precautions and play out the right cards, keep some only for him to see. They are watching him closely, he is led to believe, which means nobody is keeping an eye on anyone else. Suits him just fine.  
  
Leo has never like clouds very much. They feel funny on his skin, odd and sticky, smell sharp and lingering and he always needs a few days to get rid of it after he’s gone up a sphere. It’s a bother, but it needs to be done after Leo’s change of plans. He could use Piqué, easily, and out of all the cherubs, he guesses Piqué is the most agreeable, simply because he is more than just a boring follower. He thinks for himself and is simultaneously clever enough not to shout it from the rooftops. And yes, he is naïve in thinking Leo is perfectly satisfied with the way his existence is playing out; but he is not stupid. And Leo would never underestimate him.  
  
But this new idea of his is even more brilliant, because Leo doesn’t even have to lie to get what he wants. Yes of course he doesn’t intend to tell the entire truth, but if he drops the right hints, he won’t have to get his hands dirty at all.  
  
Leo puffs cloud away from his face and flops down, humming softly, feeling his lips twitch. He isn’t granted a proper greeting (not that he was expecting one), only a pair of sceptically raised eyebrows. Leo responds with a smile.  
  
“Are you here to finish me off?”  
  
“Finish you off?” Leo echoes. “Why would you think that?”  
  
“Well, the last time I saw you, you wanted to steal my soul and take my place.”  
  
Leo shrugs. “I got desperate. Surely you understand.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
His voice is much colder than Leo remembers, but that is not much of a surprise. And apparently he does know how to hold a grudge, always having been one of the more sombre cupids, one of Pep’s favourites, naturally; responsible and obedient. Well, until – Leo huffs out a soft laugh.  
  
“Oh, I think you do.”  
  
Their eyes remain locked, their expressions motionless; the vastness of the sea below and the infinity of the upper spheres above. Leo remembers meeting him for the first time, so long ago that the memory has already almost faded against the backdrop of time, pushed away, nearly forgotten. It had been in the very beginning and their paths hadn’t crossed, interestingly enough, until recently, until both of them had strayed off. Leo guesses that perhaps, deep down, they are more alike than they seem at first glance. Two sides of the same coin; one redeemed, one damned until the end of time.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“I told you before,” Leo says. “I like you.”  
  
“I’m flattered.”  
  
Leo decides to ignore the sarcastic jab. “You should be. I don’t like many of you.”  
  
“You seem to like Villa.”  
  
“Ah,” Leo smiles. “Did Puyi tell you to keep and eye on me too? Or did you just accidentally notice while you were keeping both of your eyes on someone else down there?”  
  
And there it is, this treacherous little brush of colour across his cheeks, so easy to pick out in contrast to his otherwise unnaturally pale skin, a hint, an unmistakeable clue that indicates small yet very deep cracks in his façade. Leo thinks he can basically see his soul shimmering beneath, twitching and distorted and so very broken. He knows that the archangels can do as much mending as they please; it is not going to go away. And Leo doubts he even wants it to.  
  
“What else is there for me to do but watch?” he asks bitterly and it’s all it takes for Leo to catch him in his carefully constructed trap.  
  
“You would be surprised.” Leo lowers his voice. “You would be very surprised.”  
  
He huffs. “Come on, Leo. I’m not an idiot. After last time, Pep warned me to not even talk to you again.”  
  
“And because you always listen to Pep you will be miserable for the rest of your existence.”  
  
“I’m not miserable,” he says.  
  
“You so are,” Leo retorts. “You got misery gushing out of your buttonholes. Not that you have any. But if you did, there’d be misery coming out of them.”  
  
He blinks irritably, moves and makes indications to get to his feet, but Leo links a gentle yet solid hand around the back of his neck, drawing him closer, studying the panicked twitch in his eyes. Leo strokes a thumb across his jaw.  
  
“Don’t run away from me, brother. I’m here to help you. If you help me.”  
  
“I won’t let you blackmail me into anything,” he says firmly and Leo shakes his head with a gentle smile.  
  
His skin feels warm beneath his fingertips, almost human, filled with their Father’s warmth and seemingly unbreakable faith. But it’s all appearance. Because he is even smarter than Piqué, and he’s even better at hiding his true thoughts and that slowly growing shoot of doubt. Of greed. Once they get a sniff of freedom, it’s impossible not to become greedy for more and Leo knows it better than anyone.  
  
“Blackmailing is below me,” Leo answers, still holding his head in place. “It’s more a matter of you doing me a favour. And in return, I will help you out with your little… problem.”  
  
Leo can practically see the string of thoughts set in motion behind his eyes.  
  
“And what kind of favour would that be?” he asks, hesitantly, but he curiosity seems to be getting the better of him.  
  
“Now we’re talking.” Leo loosens the grip of his hand, lets is slide lower onto his shoulder. “You see, they have something up there that belongs to me. And I’m quite keen to get it back.”  
  
Understanding dawns on him quickly. “I won’t steal it for you.”  
  
“And I won’t force you,” Leo replies. “So lets just speak hypothetically here, all right?” And he waits for the other to nod before he continues. “I’m stuck down there, where you want to be. And you’re stuck up here, doing your job as a devoted little cupid, and I wouldn’t mind having my soul restored to its former glory. All I need is my sword.”  
  
“How do I know you won’t try to steal my soul again once I get it for you?”  
  
“Very inquisitive, brother, that’s good,” Leo says. “But I won’t need your soul. My sword is all I need to restore my position as archangel. And once that is done, I can easily grant you what you so secretly crave.” He gets up with a soft smirk and pats his shoulder. “But as I said, only hypothetical. I won’t force you. But think about it,” and he winks, waves a goodbye. “I’ll see you, Andrés.”  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
When Villa wakes up in the morning, he finds Leo stretched out on his couch with a book held up in front of his face; one of his books, Villa notices when he walks closer on bare feet, the third one he got published. Leo notices him instantly, he can tell, but he doesn’t avert his eyes, keeps reading and Villa takes a moment to appreciate the view, to take in the way Leo looks with a pair of his own sweatpants low on his hips and a t-shirt that’s ridden up to reveal pale, taut skin and he feels his throat run dry.  
  
He tears his eyes away, heads to the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee, doubting that he would function without it, and grabs a glass of cranberry juice that Leo seems to love. Rounding a corner, he stops in the doorway, cup and glass in hands and has a quiet, brief, minor, but nevertheless quite shuddering freak-out.  
  
Villa has known Leo for about a month, intimately for about two weeks (he thinks, because time kind of blurs when Leo is around and it becomes hard to tell). And yet Villa knows Leo absolutely resents the taste of coffee but enjoys the smell. That he lives on sweets and barely eats anything savoury. That he finds bright colours irritating and all these tiny little details, which usually escape his attention. It’d taken Villa quite a large handful of months to remember Silva had been allergic to shellfish and he’d known him much better than he knows Leo. He doesn’t know Leo at all, if he’s being entirely honest to himself, but Villa doesn’t think he cares at all. He doesn’t care what Leo did before they met or where he came from.  
  
It matters to him that Leo’s here now, and that Leo fits into his flat like he’s been there since Villa had moved in.  
  
There’s a slight flutter of panic running through his chest when Villa realises he might have accidentally dragged Leo into some sort of relationship they haven’t agreed on and he has no clue if that’s what Leo wants or if there’s some very painful miscommunication happening between them. But it’s not something Villa wants to worry about just now, because it doesn’t seem like Leo is worried about anything at the moment and he wants to preserve this air of tranquillity, this surprising and quiet domesticity in which they suddenly find themselves.  
  
“Why are you reading this?” he asks and crosses the room, sit down by Leo’s feet and places both drinks on the table.  
  
“Because you wrote it,” Leo says, simple and straightforward and still without looking at him. It simultaneously feels like the worst and the best reason.  
  
“How far are you?”  
  
“Last page.”  
  
Villa splutters. “Last page? How long have you been up?”  
  
“All night,” Leo answers.  
  
“All night? How come I didn’t notice? How come you don’t look the least bit tired?”  
  
Leo shrugs. “You were asleep,” he says nonchalantly. “And I never sleep much.”  
  
“Okay,” Villa says, grabs his coffee and takes a long sip, because _he_ is still tired and Leo is a bit much for his brain without caffeine. “So what’s your verdict?” he asks and isn’t sure if he actually wants an honest answer.  
  
“I like it,” Leo says, turning the last page and Villa knows this book by heart, wouldn’t ever confess that out of all of them, this is probably his own favourite, the one he’s most proud of; freed of the uncertainty of the first and relieved of the pressure of the second. He remembers letting go and enjoying himself and exploring new ideas. It’s not the one with all the prizes and it’s not the one turned into a movie or even the most popular, but it feels most like it’s actually his and he tries not to read anything into the fact that Leo picked it out of a couple of hundred books that line his shelves.  
“It’s like a painting by Dalí, only in words,” Leo continues and it’s an oddly fitting description. “And it sounds like you,” and he puts it down, finally sets his eyes on Villa, dark orbs piercing through his skull in a merciless fashion.  
  
“Okay,” rolls off Villa’s tongue again, the only word he can currently form in his head and one of his hands settles on Leo’s ankle automatically, strokes over the soft and delicate skin stretched over protruding bones. “It’s… actually the only one I kind of like.”  
  
“Why don’t you like the others?” Leo questions, drawing his eyebrows together and he sits up swiftly, suddenly so close that Villa feels his breath hitch. “You wrote them.”  
  
“I did. And – I don’t really know. I guess I’m not a huge fan of self-praise.”  
  
“You shouldn’t be so modest,” Leo comments and drops his eyes to where Villa is almost absentmindedly running his hand up Leo’s shin. “Too much modesty is just as bad as too much arrogance.”  
  
“Hard to find the balance though, isn’t it?” and he lets his fingers come to rest on Leo’s knee for a moment, puts a tad more pressure on them and scoots closer.  
  
A soft smile starts to tug on the corner of Leo’s mouth, making him look young, making him look like he’s far out of Villa’s league and what the hell is he getting himself into? Leo hums quietly, tilts his head and a strand of hair falls across his forehead. Without a second thought, Villa leans forward, and brushes it away from Leo’s face. He stills, fingers still hovering right above Leo’s cheekbone and all air has long been sucked out of Villa, out of this room, the entire flat even, and how he is still able to breath is beyond him.  
  
“Can you kiss me again?” Leo breaks the silence and Villa – yeah, he really disconnects after that.  
  
“Jesus,” he breathes, already leaning in. “Do you even have to ask?”  
  
It surprises Villa, because Leo hasn’t been too big on kissing in general for reasons unknown (he sure as hell is good at it) but Villa would curse himself to hell and back if he didn’t seize this opportunity and he wants Leo to like it, love it even. He fits his palm to the hollow of Leo’s neck and twists his upper body so they fit together with ease, slides his lips over Leo’s as languidly as he can manage with this persistent and burning urge surfacing in his belly. Villa lets his teeth graze softly across Leo’s lower lip, gives it a delicate tug before welcoming the heat of an open mouth, an unashamed tongue.  
  
“Do you have to drop by the shop today?” he asks breathless when they part again and the sheer sight of Leo, wet lips and tousled hair, sends a load of boiling blood straight to the lower regions of his body.  
  
“They’ll manage,” Leo replies, slowly sliding his hands up Villa’s chest, crossing his arms behind his neck to slowly but determinedly pull Villa down with him.  
  
“Good,” Villa comments before he shifts, fitting his body right over Leo’s, and he presses a lingering kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Because it’s another ten hours until I have to meet Xavi for dinner.” Another kiss, another scrape of teeth and another subtle shudder that goes straight to his head and jumbles his thoughts. “And I don’t have any work to do either.”  
  
“Ten hours,” Leo says quietly, raking his nails up Villa’s back underneath his shirt. “Sounds ambitious.”  
  
“Always set the bar high,” Villa retorts, frames Leo’s head with his arms, and brushes their noses together. “No rest for the wicked,” and he can feel him laughing against his lips.  
  
  
  
  
Xavi and Silva had never liked each other much. Neither had admitted this to Villa, but Villa had known nonetheless, from the way they acted around each other, from the way the reacted when he mentioned their respective names and how they had never mentioned the other’s name themselves. Up to this day, he has no idea why it had been like that; Silva hadn’t been the jealous type and Villa had just met Xavi, but somehow – it didn’t work. When he stops and thinks about it, he realises that none of his (rather short-lasting) boyfriends had gotten on with Xavi. Or rather, they hadn’t really understood Xavi’s place in Villa’s life. Not that Villa has a good explanation for that either.  
  
So considering his track record, there is no logic to him asking Leo to come along to have dinner with his unfortunately momentarily depressed best friend. But he does ask Leo. To be fair, Villa is probably still in a post-coital daze and his brain isn’t functioning properly yet, sticky with sweat and in desperate need of a shower – or several. But maybe Villa knows exactly why he wants to take Leo along and it’s nothing like showing off his new… whatever Leo is to him, or getting his best friend’s blessing for anything; they’re grown-ups, they’ve grown out of this stuff and Villa has never needed Xavi’s approval for anything (there is a difference between needing and wanting but Villa isn’t going to bother with the small print now).  
  
Xavi these days… He is just difficult to be around, difficult to spend time with, just overall difficult and Villa doesn’t blame him for it, because there is obviously something wrong and Xavi is equally unhappy, so Villa doesn’t want to add to it and make him feel even worse. So taking Leo is kind of a way to lighten the atmosphere, in a way, to force Xavi into making more of an effort than he would make with Villa being on his own. It’s to give Xavi someone else to talk to, someone who is an even match to Xavi’s intellect, someone who could perhaps tickle something out of him.  
  
The plan isn’t well thought out, but Villa doesn’t care for now because Leo agrees to go with him without a moment’s hesitation, reminding Villa that he does know Xavi. Yet how well they know each other is another matter, a matter Leo hasn’t talked to him about and if Villa remembers correctly, Leo had said that a mutual friend had introduced him to Xavi. So maybe they’ll have something to talk about.  
  
So late afternoon, they have a shower (and they do get side-tracked, because apparently Leo turns him into a hormonal teenager), make themselves presentable and Villa is really hoping Xavi is doing the same and not building a fort out of his blankets and pillows. It’s still freakishly cold when they step outside and Villa can’t think of a winter in Barcelona that’s ever been this cold; winters in Asturias are an entirely different calibre, but Barcelona usually has a mild climate. That’s why Villa tells himself it’s instinct, savouring body warmth, that he walks very close to Leo, arms brushing together the entire way.  
  
He has a key to Xavi’s place, has had the second key since Xavi moved into this flat, but Villa still rings his bell, wants to force Xavi to get up, open the door for him and he waits a few good minutes, rings it a couple of times until he knows he has to be annoying the shit out of Xavi – or rather he would be if Xavi were still the same. Hell, he would’ve probably ripped off Villa’s finger by now. But nobody buzzes them in, nobody opens the door, so Villa begrudgingly uses his key. He ascends the staircase, Leo closely behind him and because he is a polite person and a good friend, Villa knocks on Xavi’s front door and waits for any kind of response before he, again, with a sigh, unlocks it and lets himself and Leo in.  
  
He finds Xavi in his living room. It’s a progress, Villa has to admit, not as big of a progress as he’d hoped for, but a progress nonetheless. But Xavi is sitting on his couch, dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt (again, a definite plus), a pair of shoes on the carpet in front of him, and he is leaning against the backrest, head tipped back and eyes glued to the ceiling with an absent stare. And perhaps this is even less of an improvement than it seems at first glance.  
  
“Ready?” he asks, trying to tickle a quick reaction out of Xavi.  
  
It fails miserably, because all Xavi says is, “what?”  
  
“Dinner,” Villa responds with a sigh, feeling Leo shift next to him and the brush of his fingers on the back of his hand. “Xavi, you promised. We’re going out for dinner. I’ll even let you pick the place, we can drive if you don’t want to walk, but you need to get out. So.” He takes a breath. “Are you ready?”  
  
“No,” Xavi says and makes Villa groan inwardly, patience wearing thin already although he do wants to try so hard to help Xavi in any way. “No, I don’t think so.”  
  
“Brilliant,” Villa mutters to himself rather than to the other two people present. “Oh, by the way, this is –” and Leo has already pushing past him, walking towards Xavi. “Leo. Remember him?”  
  
Leo stretches out his hand with a soft smile and only then does Xavi move his head slowly, twisting it just at the right angle to have a proper look. He doesn’t grab Leo’s hand though, just keeps staring and there is a soft twitch to his brow, to the corners of his mouth, and he seems frozen to the spot. Leo keeps smiling, brightly, with his hand still stretched out. Villa is starting to think this wasn’t a good idea after all.  
  
“Okay,” he sighs. “We don’t need to go out, but you’re not getting rid of us. You want me to grab some takeaway? And yes, I will _force_ you to eat if I have to.”  
  
“That’d be great,” Leo is the one who answers and Villa feels strange about this, he really does, but something is pulling him back by his spine with indisputable force and before he has realised that he’s moved, he finds himself outside the building, on an empty street.  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
“You know me,” Leo tells Xavi, still shock frozen to the stop, looking up at him and Leo knows there is only so much that Pep could have scraped away. The surface of thoughts, but never the memory of impressions and Leo knows he’d made quite the impression on Xavi the last time they’d met. “You know who I am, you just can’t remember.” He moves closer until his legs almost touch Xavi’s and leans forward slightly. “There is an itch in your head, isn’t there? It doesn’t hurt, but it’s there and it doesn’t go away, driving you mad, like insects crawling through your brain. That itch is even stronger now than it is usually, huh? Because your mind, in its deepest and darkest depths, is screaming for attention.”  
  
“I have no idea who you are,” Xavi says tightly, but he blinks multiple times against the images his subconscious is suddenly starting to cough up.  
  
“You do,” Leo replies and then he crawls onto the couch, knees digging into the seat on either side of Xavi’s legs. He places his hands on Xavi’s shoulder, whose eyes are suddenly wide with panic, and he pushes him deeper into the cushions. He sees the tightness of his throat, the curve of his jaw and the dip of his collarbones and Leo traces their outlines, runs his hands around Xavi’s throat and across his chin to let the tips of his fingers rest delicately against Xavi’s temples. “Just _think_.” And then he presses down.  
  
Leo senses the scream wallowing up in Xavi’s chest, can feel the agony suddenly throbbing in his bones and his mind painfully thrashing about and before a single sound can escape Xavi’s lips, Leo slides his open mouth over them and silences him. Xavi writhes beneath him, fights with all the strength he can muster without knowing what he’s really fighting and it’s not like it does anything against Leo; it’s not like Xavi could ever stand a chance. If Leo wanted, he could easily snap his spine like a feeble twig. But he is of no use dead, so Leo just holds him in place, uses his lips to keep him quiet and distractedly wonders why Pep didn’t just end Xavi’s existence with a flick of his wrist. It would’ve been easier for everyone, surely, to just get rid of all traces than to manipulate his mind and Pep always has reasons, always thinks about the big picture of things and the course of the universe and shit like that. But Leo quickly realises, being this close, that there is something odd about Xavi’s soul and he doesn’t have the time to get behind it.  
  
Hands push at his chest and they shouldn’t do anything, they shouldn’t even as much as tickle Leo, but he finds himself being forced back, quite solidly and there is a rush of something surging against his sternum, making him fall back. Leo falls to the ground, back hitting the carpeted floor and he can faintly see Xavi scrambling to his feet, legs giving in and then he is tumbling over the back of the couch and they’re both lying there and Leo – Leo has to laugh. He throws his head back and laughs like he hasn’t laughed in a very long time because isn’t this just brilliant? What a turn of events, he muses, what an excellent, deliciously surprising turn of events indeed.  
  
Leo pushes himself up to his elbows, body still softly shaking in amusement and he watches as Xavi stutters to his feet, encircling his own chest, then his head, white as a sheet and a shimmer of sweat on his forehead. He curls his body forward and coughs, keeps one hand tightly buried in his hair while blindly fumbling for support with the other.  
  
“Fuck,” he rasps with a laboured voice. “Oh fuck, I think I need to throw up.”  
  
“Feel free to do so,” Leo hums with a satisfied smirk. “It might help relieve some of that tension. I can’t speak from experience, but I’m sure having your mind pieced back together in the right way is painful as fuck.”  
  
That makes Xavi stop short and although he is still awfully distressed, still shaking, he keeps impressively still.  
  
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Leo says. “I did you a favour. And may I add: My, my. What a surprise.”  
  
“What,” Xavi chokes out with another cough. “What the hell –”  
  
“Come on,” Leo drawls and sits up. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you. Because this was actually a smart move. Everyone thinks you’re dead. Hell, I bet even our Father thinks you’re gone.” Xavi is still staring at him and when Leo gets to his feet, he actually takes a step back, as if that would ever be enough to keep Leo away. “How did you do that, really? Must have been fucking painful. It’s probably why Pep didn’t just kill you, huh? Because he couldn’t.”  
  
Xavi takes a ragged breath. “What the fuck are you doing here?” and Leo takes that as a sign he finally remembers. “And what the hell are you talking about?”  
  
Leo tilts his head in thought, rounds the couch, floorboards creaking with every step. “How does it work?” he muses. “Do you cling to them like a parasite? How many times have you changed hosts? To how many souls have you clung? Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t notice you.” He squints and Xavi tries to move away, but Leo grabs his wrist. “He has no idea, has he?”  
  
Leo presses closer again, backs him up against the wall and leans in, looks deep into his eyes, searching for this familiar glint while Xavi’s pulse is racing beneath his fingers. He tries to wiggle out of Leo’s grasp, but that surge of power is drained now, all evidence of its existence buried deep and yet Leo is still trying to dig it up. He remains unsuccessful and huffs in frustration, lets go of Xavi again and brings as much space between them as Xavi will deem comfortable.  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
Leo shrugs. “I was just going to do Andrés a favour.”  
  
“Andrés,” Xavi repeats, eyes suddenly going bright with remembrance and recognition and a sudden burst of desperation. “Why are you here? Where is he?”  
  
“He’s gone,” Leo answers nonchalantly. “Had to return to heaven and all, resume to be a good little cupid. And Pep punched a hole into your memory to make you forget he ever wandered into your life. You were an empty shell for the past two months. Quite pathetic, really. So I restored your mind.” He smiles. “You’re welcome.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You heard me,” Leo says, growing impatient. “So can we speed this up? I’m here to help.”  
  
Xavi opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before he finds his words. “But why – why are you here?”  
  
“Because I want to help you,” he explains.  
  
“You’re evil.”  
  
“No, I’m not. What would give you that idea? Andrés told you about me, didn’t he? Just because I was created to kill people doesn’t mean I’m evil.”  
  
“Still,” Xavi insists, and Leo senses his pulse getting back to normal, which is probably a good thing. “Why would you help us?”  
  
“Because,” Leo drawls, “Andrés is doing me a little favour. And I want to repay my debt.”  
  
“What are you making him do?”  
  
Leo winks. “Not important. The only thing you need to know is that I intend to help you get reunited with your lost love. You don’t have to thank me yet. But a little gratitude would be appreciated.”  
  
All right, perhaps Leo enjoys this a little bit too much, but he can’t help it. Andrés probably has no idea who he is really getting involved with and it’s even better because not even Xavi has any clue and now Leo is really holding _all_ the cards. He is rather tempted to rejoice loudly and send a hallelujah to the heavens, but that would give him away, and Leo doesn’t want to become complacent.  
  
“Then what do you want with Villa?”  
  
Ah, Leo thinks, another sore point. “Nothing, actually. Turns out he has taken a liking to me, and I do enjoy his company.”  
  
“Stay away from him,” Xavi says, thinking that he can threaten Leo and Leo has to laugh again, quietly this time, softly shaking his head to himself.  
  
“Or what? You’ll tell him who I really am? I doubt he’d care. He’s kind of in the thick of it already.”  
  
“You sure?” Xavi asks and Leo decides he doesn’t like him when he gets cocky. “Well, we’ll see about that.”  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
Villa returns to the weirdest face-off he has ever witnessed. Any comment about stupid waiters and vegetarian dumplings dies on his tongue when he enters the living room and finds Leo and Xavi standing in front of each other, staring like their lives depended on it, locked in some kind of silent conversation Villa isn’t part of. Maybe Xavi isn’t the only one off his rockers; maybe they’re just all insane.  
  
He puts the bag of takeaway cartons down on the dining table, drops his keys and raises his eyebrows at them, but they only slowly tear their eyes away to look at him instead.  
  
“Are you guys okay?”  
  
Leo smiles stiffly. “Splendid,” he says, but Villa can tell that there’s something off about him.  
  
Coming to think of it, there is something off about Xavi too. Or rather, that something that was off before seems firmly back in place now. His eyes are dark and focused and his forehead is slightly creased from his brows pushing together in a slight frown, displeased for some reason, but it’s a refreshing change to his recent numbing indifference.  
  
“Actually,” Xavi says, “we’re not.”  
  
Villa furrows his brows. “Okay,” he says, stretching the vowels in confusion, and he is just unable to even vaguely comprehend what’s going on. The entire situation suddenly feels very fishy.  
  
“What did he tell you?” Xavi asks him with a pressing tone. “What did he tell you about how we met?”  
  
“What the hell? Xavi, what are you on about?” He averts his gaze. “Leo?” But Leo is still looking at Xavi, eyes solid and cold and Villa doesn’t like this, he doesn’t like it at all and it’s making him fucking uncomfortable because there it is again, this awfully persistent feeling in the pit of his stomach, this nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that it’s so obvious, that he is being an ignorant idiot and okay, maybe Villa really is, but he just doesn’t _get it_.  
  
“Go on, Xavi,” Leo suddenly speaks up again. “Tell him if you think this is a good idea.”  
  
And fuck if this doesn’t worry the shit out of Villa. It seems like all light, all air is suddenly being sucked out of the room. There is a glass of water on the table and Villa absentmindedly stumbles over it with his eyes. The surface is rippling softly and when Villa keeps completely still, he can feel a soft and delicate tremor beneath his feet. He wants to think this is an earthquake of some kind, maybe a plane flying overhead, but it’s eerily quiet and Leo and Xavi’s gazes are locked again. Villa tries to breathe steadily, but he fails and he feels his knees grow weak.  
  
“You should get away from him,” Xavi says eventually, turning to face Villa and there is something so dead serious about him, like this is a matter of life and death and seriously, what the actual fuck? “Get away while you can. He’s not – he’s not who he seems to be.”  
  
“I don’t –” Villa starts, but Xavi interrupts him instantly.  
  
“I mean it, Villa. What happened to me… it’s not something you should get involved in, believe me. Please, as your friend, trust me. Leo is,” and he pauses, swallows thickly; throws a quick look towards Leo who is… who is – “Leo isn’t _Leo_ , okay? He’s –”  
  
And Xavi stutters to a halt, bites down on his lips and quietly begs Villa to trust him on this and Villa doesn’t know if he can’t. He can feel the painful beat of his heart solidly in his chest, choking him and the sky is almost black outside. The earth is still shivering and the air is heavy with tension and all of a sudden, there’s a quiet buzz and the light bulb above their head shatters into a million pieces. Villa flinches back, instinctively shields off his eyes as a shriek echoes through the room, abruptly so dark that Villa shouldn’t be able to see his own hands in front of his face. But he can and when he finally dares to look up –  
  
Leo is glowing. Leo is fucking glowing like there’s electricity encircling him, like he’d swallowed a halogen lamp and there are odd shadows on the wall behind him, all disfigured and drawn out and right now, Villa actually wants nothing more than to pass out and wake up to find he’s dreaming this. He wants to think he’s dreaming all of it, maybe stuck in one of Leo’s tales and not –  
  
This can’t be real. It can’t. But there are pieces in his head, slowly being put together to create a seamless puzzle and it makes sense and Villa curses it for making sense because –  
  
“Fucking hell,” he grinds out between his teeth. “Jesus _Christ_ , you’ve got to be fucking _kidding me_!” and Xavi’s expression is still serious, leaving Villa not even the slightest hint to still be in doubt about anything.  
  
 _Leo is not Leo_ echoes in his mind, over and over and over again and Villa would cover up his ears if it’d do any good. He looks at him, and Leo’s eyes are even darker than the blackened sky. Villa might not understand any of it, and he might not want to believe it at all – but that doesn’t mean it can’t be true, he realises ironically.  
  
“You’re _Azrael_ ,” he says numbly. “Fuck, I’m out of here.”  
  
And he turns on his heels and leaves.  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
The air smells salty. Usually, Leo enjoys it. Today it makes him feel sick. Worrying his lower lip, he picks up a pebble and tosses it out into the foaming waves. It sinks as heavily as a rock ten times its size.  
  
“Did you know that plans can backfire?” he asks Piqué who sits down next to him, long legs dangling off the pier. “It sucks.”  
  
Piqué laughs. “Dude, you’re telling _me_? I am the embodiment of backfiring plans. You have made my plans backfire, remember?”  
  
“I do,” Leo admits. “And I’m sorry. It _sucks_.”  
  
  
  
  


***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS/DISCLAIMER: Same as before.

_***  
_

  
_And the fifth angel blew his trumpet, and I saw a star fallen from heaven to earth, and he was given the key to the shaft of the bottomless pit._

**Revelation 9:1**   


  
  


***

  
  
  
When Kun flops down next to him, Leo doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting in the kitchen for. He thinks Gonzalo was still busying himself with the ovens when he sat down, but now the lights are gone inside as well as outside the windows and he suddenly realises that it’s become very quiet and Gonzalo is nowhere to be seen. Leo blinks, turns his head to face Kun.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’ve been in here all day,” Kun says with lines of worry on his forehead. “It’s kind of freaking me out.”  
  
“Why don’t you just leave then,” Leo bites back before he can stop himself, before he can stop himself from sounding like an angry and bitter child. This is so below him it’s making him cringe inwardly.  
  
“Because you look sad,” Kun says and pulls a face to emphasise it. Leo has to fight the urge to punch him.  
  
“I’m not sad.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kun drawls. “I think humans have an actual term for what you are.”  
  
“And what would that be,” Leo says, subtly daring Kun to continue.  
  
“You’re _lovesick_ ,” Kun eventually tells him, seeming awfully satisfied with himself.  
  
Leo thinks he might be gaping. He’s not sure; he sure as hell hopes he’s not. “I am _not_.”  
  
“Dude, you _so_ are,” Kun insists and has the audacity to sling an arm around Leo’s shoulders in what he probably assumes to be a comforting gesture. Leo wonders if he should give him credit for trying, but he discards it immediately, because – what the fuck? “You know, Villa hasn’t stopped by in three days, you’ve sulked in here for one of those, and I don’t really want to know what you did during the other two. And it’s okay, Leo. Something went wrong, and you miss him, it’s only –”  
  
“Kun, I swear,” Leo cuts him off. “If you say it’s only _human_ , I will cut off your head and eat it.”  
  
The kitchen door squeals, and Gonzalo saunters in with a plate. “Ugh, that’s vile,” he comments, then sits down on Leo’s other side so that he finds himself sandwiched between the two demons and Leo guesses that if that is now his existence, then he really did make a series of wrong choices on the way; starting with these two. “Brownie?”  
  
Leo glowers at him, but he still takes the brownie, because it’s a damn good brownie and he likes chocolate. It would be a tragedy for this brownie to go to waste. “I hate this fucking place,” he says with a mouth full of cake and keeps glaring ahead.  
  
“You hate an awful lot of things,” Gonzalo says, leaning in. “You want a cuddle?”  
  
“No,” Leo scoffs, but when Gonzalo wraps his freakishly strong arms around his torso and Kun crosses their legs together, encircling one of Leo’s wrists with his icy fingers, Leo doesn’t move away.  
  
  
  
  
Leo decides a few days into Villa’s absence that he doesn’t care; that it is illogical for him to care in the slightest that Villa decided to walk out on him after finding out the truth. Or rather, after Xavi spilling the truth against Leo’s wish. And fine, maybe he didn’t expect things to turn out the way they are now, but it suits him just fine. He’s now rid of Villa and any distractions and that allows him to focus on his plan, with the inclusion of the surprise that Xavi has turned out to be.  
  
So he forgets about Villa (he tries to, but it is not his fault that he keeps sneaking back into his mind when Leo last expects it) and goes on a little search that remains fruitless. He ponders on sending Kun or Gonzalo off, but if he hasn’t been successful – well he doubts they would be either. It pisses him off, in a way, and he thinks about stalking Xavi, grinding his nerves and making him crack, but he doesn’t want to push him too soon after piecing his mind back together, fuck knows what that might do to him.  
  
In the end, there is probably not much for him to do but wait.  
  
Piqué drops by occasionally, tells awful jokes in an attempt to lift Leo’s spirits, despite Leo constantly telling him that he doesn’t need his spirits lifted, that his spirits are fine and that he is quite content, thank you. But none of his explanations stick; Piqué still tries to make him laugh, and Kun and Gonzalo fuss over him like people would fuss over their sick children. It makes Leo feel quite pathetic actually, even more pathetic considering the fact that a human walked out on him.  
  
But it’s not like Leo cares. At all.  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
Villa isn’t being dramatic. He is _not_. If anyone criticises him for turning into what Xavi had been turned into two months ago, then they most likely haven’t had to face the revelation that they’d been screwing the fucking Angel of Death for a month; that they’d kind of and in a really weird and fucked up way even started to like him.  
  
He hides in his flat. In his bedroom, to be exact and he isn’t proud of it, but he feels like hiding under the covers so he will damn well do whatever he pleases. Villa does try to wrap his head around the absurdity of it all, but it just makes it ache to no end, so he gives up and instead decides to sulk and wallow in self-pity until Xavi practically bangs down the door to his flat and isn’t that fucking ironic? With their roles reversed, Villa wonders how Xavi had managed not to cut his head off with Villa annoying the fuck out of him; because Xavi sure as hell is annoying the fuck out of Villa now.  
  
But maybe he’s being unfair. Xavi is trying to help, but Xavi is also the living reminder that this is all very real, not a joke, not a dream or some screwed up trance. And Xavi retells a tale that Villa had apparently also been part of; an angel fallen from heaven to set them up, some sort of cupid (and Villa looks at Xavi and well, maybe to everyone else it does seem like they belong together and maybe even fucking _God_ thought so for a while) and he’d fallen in love with Xavi instead and Xavi with him in the most flawless and perfect and innocent way that Villa buries his face deep in his pillows because it’s making his heart hurt.  
  
The cupid (yeah Villa isn’t trying to wrap his head around that either) had been snatched back, apparently, and some heavenly being (honestly, how is that his life?) had messed with both of their heads. Villa wants to argue that he hadn’t been turned into some hermit like Xavi, but then he thinks of his headaches and his insomnia and okay, maybe he’d been screwed up too.  
  
“Seriously,” he tells Xavi with a mouth full of pillow. “How does this shit happen to us?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Xavi replies tiredly. “But don’t try to understand it.”  
  
Villa huffs. “Yeah, that’s what everyone is telling me these days.”  
  
  
  
  
So, Villa is not exactly proud of the next part either, but after rolling around in his bed for three days and kicking Xavi out – because honest to God, he isn’t going to kill himself or anything –, he drags himself into his living room and in front of his laptop and he googles everything. He googles it. That’s how low he’s sunk. He fucking googles Biblical myths.  
  
Villa starts by scrolling through Old and New Testament and it’s all pretty harmless up to the point where he gets sucked into Wikipedia and the madness really starts. He reads articles on the devil and his fall from grace, the war in heaven, and the archangels, the supposed hierarchy in heaven and hell. It’s perfectly clear to him that none of the articles are actually of much help, because they’re mere summaries of myths that some people decided to write down on mostly faded parchment scrolls. Villa doesn’t know if there is even an inch of truth in any of the articles he finds. It’s not like this stuff gets documented on the Discovery Channel.  
  
He doesn’t feel any smarter when he’s done with it, when he’s basically spent the entire day reading paragraph after paragraph of religious lore; Christianity, Judaism, Orthodox and whatever else, he’s lost the overview.  
  
Villa refrains from looking up anything on Azrael, because – well, it might be fucked up, but it feels like stalking and he doubts there’s going to be anything useful on the bloody internet. It’s not like Leo – or whatever he is supposed to call him now – hasn’t told him, quite detailed if Villa’s is being honest to himself, what actually happened to him, or how he came to be. God’s anger personified – if that doesn’t have a ring to it…  
  
He gets up with a sigh and walks into the kitchen, puts two spoons of that awful instant coffee into a cup and waits with arms crossed in front of his chest for the water to boil. It’s already growing dark outside, an almost cruel strip of radiant orange on the horizon, only partially interrupted by the city’s skyline. The cold is almost creeping through the single-glassed windows (a clear disadvantage of living in an old building) and there’s a thin layer of condensation pearling down the frames. Walking over to the fridge to grab milk that will hopefully make his coffee drinkable, Villa opens the door and stops short.  
There are three cartons of juice in his fridge; three different kinds of juice; cranberry, grape and pomegranate.  
  
Villa doesn’t even drink juice.  
  
He had bought the cartons after a day of Leo staying over. He had made an actual effort to buy juice, because Leo hadn’t liked anything else, despite not needing to buy anything else but juice. So Villa stands there, in front of the open fridge, growing quite cold, and stares at those three cartons when he realises that he is utterly fucked. He is utterly fucked and gone and he is probably an even bigger asshole than he’d always been happy to admit to.  
  
It’s barely been a month, and already he finds a Leo-shaped hole in his life.  
  
  
  
  
Villa tosses and turns all night, finds no sleep, and when it’s morning, he doesn’t know what he’ll hate himself for more; for not listening to Xavi or for following some obscure feelings.  
  
  
  
  
It’s probably pathetic that he waits at the corner of the street for a full ten minutes before bringing up the guts to walk into the coffee shop for the first time in a week. He’s done his fair share of soul-searching and in no way does he think this is actually a good idea, but – well, here he is. And he refuses to chicken out of this.  
  
Villa pushes the door open and the rusty bell above it gives off a feeble sound. He immediately sees Kun behind the counter, as usual. What disturbs him though, is the fact that Kun’s smile widens visibly when he sees him and in a flurry of movement, he comes to stand in front of Villa with spread arms.  
  
“Oh no,” Villa says quickly and holds up his hands to shield himself off. “Don’t even think about it. Seriously. If I get hugged by a demon before eight in the morning, my brain is going to explode. So – kindly fuck off.”  
  
Kun rolls his eyes, but his smile stays on when he nods towards the back. “Leo is in the kitchen.”  
  
“Figured,” Villa feels the need to comment, trying to ignore the thoughts rushing through his brain and tries not to think about where Kun could have been; or where he is from.  
  
He finds the kitchen filled with the pleasant smell of freshly baked pastry. There are a few clouds of flour and a couple of stray sunrays obscuring his vision, and Villa sees Gonzalo in one corner, now turned around, eyeing him with raised brows, handling a tray into an oven, but there is no doubt as to who is sitting crossed legged in the middle of the table, with a candy coloured bowl in his lap and a large wooden spoon in his hand, stirring something that is undoubtedly dough of some kind. His heart does a little leap and okay, fuck, he’s missed Leo; he really has.  
  
“Hey,” he says and even though it’s a short word, his voice still trembles slightly.  
  
Leo blinks at him for a moment, blank expression, and spoon stuck motionless in the dough, then he looks over his shoulder at Gonzalo and Villa can only guess what kind of silent words they’re exchanging. And then all of a sudden, Gonzalo is gone. Gone. Just like that. He flinches back before he can grab a hold of his body and okay, fuck; maybe this is something he had to get used to if he doesn’t want to die of a heart attack within the next week. Leo still doesn’t give anything away when he returns his gaze to him.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
Villa lets out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. “I don’t really know,” he says and shrugs. “This is… I mean, you _are_ aware of what happened, right?”  
  
“Perfectly,” Leo replies monotonously, but at least he puts the bowl aside.  
  
“Good,” Villa says. “Good. Because I wasn’t sure and I just want to say again that this,” and he gestures vaguely about, “isn’t something that gets dumped on people every day. It’s kind of a big deal when you find out that the guy you’ve been seeing, dating – whatever – is actually a heavenly avenger and couple of thousand years old.”  
  
“It’s more than a few thousand,” Leo throws in and Villa starts to feel light-headed.  
  
“Please don’t tell me,” he waves off. “And… I’m going to do something now, and I want to apologise beforehand, but I need to do this, okay? So – sorry.”  
  
Leo looks at him in confusion, but Villa moves forward quickly, grabs one of the long kitchen knives that are lying on the countertop and steps in front of Leo. He raises his hand, and lets it plummet deeply into Leo’s body. The sound, the sensation, make Villa stumble back instantly, tasting bile in his throat and he takes a deep breath, almost expects, almost fears, that Leo will collapse and fall off the table like a lifeless corpse. Instead –  
  
“Why would you _stab_ me?” Leo asks incredulously and stares at the sharp kitchen knife that’s now embedded in his sternum up to the hilt.  
  
“I don’t know,” Villa blurts out, and he is most likely white as a sheet, eyes wide eyes and a vein throbbing at his temple. “I was testing a theory, I guess?”  
  
“What theory would involve stabbing me?” He pulls at the knife, but it seems to be stuck between two ribs. It doesn’t hurt him, at least Villa hopes it doesn’t, but it can’t be comfortable either.  
  
“You’re asking _me_? You basically tell me that you’re the fucking devil and I’m not supposed to freak out? And my theory worked out pretty well, thank you. You’re not dead.”  
  
“I’m not the devil,” Leo scoffs. “I was the Angel of Death and of course I am not dead. I don’t die. You could’ve just asked instead of jamming this into me.”  
  
“How was I supposed to know for sure?” Villa throws back, but when Leo finally gets off that damn table, he wraps his hands around the knife’s handle and pulls. It’s pretty stuck and Villa can’t deny that it makes him feel slightly ill when it takes longer than anticipated to get it out. The fact that there is not even the slightest hint of blood on the blade… it should make it better, but it increases his nausea and Villa drops the knife and it clatters loudly on the floor, but Leo is still standing close, holding a hand over his chest. “Are you going to be all right?”  
  
Leo shrugs it off. “It’s going to heal in a minute.”  
  
Villa takes a deep breath and leans back against the countertop. “Okay. Jesus. I’m sorry, really, but – this is all real, right? There is a God, and there’s heaven and hell, angels and demons and you’re on of them. All these stories you told me, they weren’t stories at all. That stuff actually happened.” Leo just nods, but Villa doesn’t expect him to say anything. He doesn’t think he wants Leo to say anything just now. “You’re down here because they threw you out,” he continues and he guesses he is only now starting to realise what it means. “And you went to hell, and you dug up Kun out there, and Gonzalo, and now you run a coffee shop. I… I don’t have to get that, do I?”  
  
“I don’t get it either,” Leo says and Villa has to laugh softly at that and Leo’s sour expression and – yeah, he is fucked.  
  
He sighs, runs a hand over his face and digs his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans to make his stance look more casual when in fact he is a mess inside. “Listen,” Villa starts over. “You, and Xavi to be fair… you scared the absolute crap out of me with that little light bulb stunt, okay? But,” he has to admit, “I was a dick for just walking out on you, and for not showing my face for a week. This is a lot to stomach, I am not going to lie about that, and I still don’t know if I will be able to handle it. But… the way I see it, it’s not like you’re to blame for who you are. And I don’t want to be a dick and judge anyone based on what others tell me. I don’t know you well, and I still have no idea what is actually going on, but from the way I’ve gotten to know you – well.”  
  
Villa breaks off, because he is not good at this stuff, and he has no clue what he’s even trying to say or do here and Leo is still looking at him without giving anything away. His head is slightly dipped to one side and Villa guesses he might be a bit surprised and it does kind of hurt him when he thinks about the reasons for that. Considering what Xavi has told him, angels aren’t that big on feelings.  
  
“I guess I just – I like you,” Villa says eventually after silence has stretched on for far too long. “Do with that whatever you want. But… it would be kind of nice for you to say something too.”  
  
“Oh,” Leo responds. “I wasn’t aware you wished me to say something.”  
  
“Well, not before I got all of this out, but I do need some sort of comment from you.”  
  
“I can do that.” But Leo stops and he seems to be thinking hard and he doesn’t say anything for a while and Villa is growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Okay.”  
  
Villa raises his brows. “Okay what?”  
  
“Okay to this,” and he gestures between them, a little inept, and it occurs to Villa – with a weird airy feeling in his head – that Leo is even worse at this than he is.  
  
He breathes a sigh of relief, and smiles. “Good. So… lets just – pick up where we left off? Although I would appreciate it if you’d keep the supernatural stuff to a minimum. Because it freaks me out. I won’t stab you again, but… no weird stuff.”  
  
“Okay,” Leo repeats and now he is smiling too and Villa feels incredibly lighter, because it wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be any maybe it’s not going to be very difficult either. It could probably turn problematic if they ever got serious, but it’s not like either of them had that in mind. It’s almost a relief not to have to think too far ahead.  
  
“Just one last question. I can still kiss you, right?”  
  
“Please do,” Leo answers and it’s all Villa needs to push forward and take hold of Leo’s jaw. He lingers for a brief moment, stares into the abysses that are Leo’s eyes and there’s a quiet voice in his head asking him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but Villa can’t be asked to care. This might top the list of crazy things he’s ever done, but he’s a writer; he can allow himself some eccentricity.  
  
So he kisses Leo, because it’s apparently no issue, with his lips already parted and it’s only been a week without kissing Leo, but it’s still so intense his toes curl and heat explodes behind his sternum, as if he’d just driven a knife into his own chest.  
  
  
  
  
This is how Villa perhaps kind of stumbles into some sort of maybe-relationship thing or not with the fallen Angel of Death.  
  
It’s definitely a first.  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
It’s an unexpected turn of events. In fact, there has been a fair amount of unexpected turns, but Leo isn’t about to complain about that. He didn’t plan for a lot of these things to happen, but they’re a fortunate change, changer for the better, and it seems that after millennia of screwing with him, fate has finally started to bow down in front of him and let things go his way. And with fate on his side, and Villa warm and pleasantly writhing beneath his fingertips, Leo is happy to be patient a little longer and wait for Andrés to make up his mind.  
  
He licks a wet trail down Villa’s chest, outlines the softly protruding ribs with tongue and drags his nose over the flat and taut expanse of his stomach. He watches goose-bumps rise and listens to the shortened puffs of breath, and when Leo lifts his gaze and meets Villa’s, darkened with arousal – he finds he’s actually quite happy to wait for a little while longer. There is no rush; he will succeed either way, so he might as well enjoy himself a little before shit starts to do down.  
  
Hands tangle in his hair and urge him back up and there is always something about the way Villa’s frames his face, cradles his head like he’s delicate and… precious. It makes Leo’s chest feel tight and maybe he doesn’t know what all of this is about and maybe he doesn’t even care in the slightest, but he doesn’t mind at all.  
  
“This is surreal,” Villa breathes against his lips and Leo silences him, lets his mouth swallow down any possible doubts or protests. Villa has made his choice and Leo will not have him change his mind.  
  
But it doesn’t appear as Villa is ever going to reject Leo again. Leo feels his shoulders being seized and finds their positions turned, their hips forced together by sheer gravity. He winds his bare legs around Villa’s sides and lets their naked chests stick together with sweat, lets Villa become very aware of his own physical, burning desire and Leo wants to lick up the flowering sparks of his soul, bright and shining with life and warmth and he wants to keep them locked up in his own chest and cradle them like Villa cradles his head. He wants to have Villa close, body and soul, and Leo refuses to let go of him.  
  
  
  
  
Sometimes, when the mood takes him, Leo will vanish and get a different sniff of air. He will sit on mountain tops and wade in the shallow water of a hidden lagoon; feel the scorching sand of a desert beneath his toes, listen to the ever-present noises of the rainforest or simply lie on his back on cold and rough stones in some long forgotten temple and remember what it was like to be worshipped.  
  
Leo has spent many decades, many centuries, haunted and restless, never once feeling like he belonged anywhere; never once wanting to stay and still and let his thoughts catch up with him.  
  
Now he returns to Villa every time, following some silent call that nevertheless echoes through his chest and pulls him back towards him.  
  
  
  
  
Every other day, Leo finds himself with a little time on his hands and he doesn’t feel like going anywhere or doing much, so he spends it in the coffee shop, watches Kun flirt unashamedly with customers and takes in Gonzalo’s occasional curses when he once again burns something in the kitchen. Leo has also taken a liking to Kun’s first creation; melted chocolate thinned out with foaming milk and lots of caramel syrup stirred in and drizzled over the top. Leo licks the sticky amber substance off his thumb and throws one of his cards onto the table.  
  
“You’re much more pleasant than you were last week,” Piqué tells him from across, chewing on his lips in an absentminded fashion, worrying skin and poking out his tongue as he takes in his own deck and considers. “Not that I’m complaining,” he quickly adds after Leo throws him a look. “Just – good for you, you know.”  
  
Leo shrugs, doesn’t really have anything to say to that and waits for Piqué to make his move. It doesn’t matter what card Piqué puts down, he’s been losing all morning and he will keep losing because Leo can read his thoughts and the cupid is far too trustworthy. Honestly, Leo hasn’t the faintest idea why Piqué is still showing up, why he comes down just to play a boring game of cards with Leo or attempt to entertain him in some other way. They haven’t struck a new bet and there are no favours to ask, no debts to pay, no assignments with which Leo could be of assistance.  
  
So he can’t help himself but ask, “Why do you bother?”  
  
Piqué’s bright eyes shoot up to meet his. “Why do I bother with what?”  
  
“Why do you keep coming back?” Leo elaborates, tries to sound entirely indifferent instead of curious, because it’s not like he actually cares, it’s not like it actually matters.  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” Piqué replies with yet another question and Leo puts down his cards and sighs.  
  
“Because this is of no benefit for you.”  
  
“But you’re my brother,” and Leo stops short, stunned, and stares as Piqué continues. “You’re my brother, we’re family. And in a family, you look out for each other, right?”  
  
“Right,” Leo repeats numbly and almost spills his hot chocolate. Suddenly, he can barely feel his hands.  
  
  
  
  
Leo knows it’s not a good idea and that for now; there is no real need for it. But it is just an opportunity so tempting that Leo can feel a certain kind of allure prickling beneath his fingertips. There are few things that remain mysterious to him; Leo has been around since the beginning and he knows origin of and reason for almost everything in existence. Seen it all, done it all, which is why Leo gets _bored_ so easily. He guesses that for people, life is exciting just because they are fools and they know nothing and even those who assume to know a lot can only grasp a fraction of reality that is so minimal, it might as well be nothing at all.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
Leo takes a few steps into the dark room, casually glancing about as if he were actually observing it. “What makes you think I want anything at all?”  
  
“I’m not an idiot,” Xavi replies. He is cast in shadows; only a spark of light being reflected in his eyes and his soul is so _alive_ that Leo finds it hard not to get too close this instant. “Andrés told me about you. I might not know what it is exactly you’re playing at, but you’re sure as hell up to no good.”  
  
Leo smiles. “Again, Xavi. Why do you think I’m the bad guy in this? I didn’t make the rules. I didn’t decide to be dropped onto this wretched earth. I didn’t take Andrés away from you. I didn’t erase your memory,” he says, walking towards Xavi with a slow but steady pace. He sees the tension in Xavi’s shoulders, but he does not move back. “In fact, I’m the one who wants to help. Because I believe everyone should be allowed a choice. So maybe you need to re-evaluate your opinion of me.”  
  
“Even if it were true,” Xavi says and there is doubt and hesitation and it all smells so sweet Leo finds himself drawn even closer. “You’re fallen. You can’t do a thing.”  
  
“See, that’s where you’re wrong as well.” Leo drops his voice, drops his eyes to Xavi’s throat, pale and delicate and fragile and maybe Leo could just snap his neck and swallow down the warmth hiding inside Xavi’s body. He wonders if that would explain anything, the taste of it, if it would give him anything at all, if he could even catch it. But for now, Leo is content with cornering Xavi in his own bedroom, smiling down on him, and letting him know without room for error that he is the one who is and will remain in charge of this situation. “In fact, you’d be surprised as to what I could do for you.”  
  
“I don’t want anything from you, not even your so-called help,” Xavi grits out, shifting on his bed as Leo sits down in its edge.  
  
“Don’t lie to me, Xavi. I find it unbecoming,” Leo tells him with a tilt of his head, a quirk of his brow. “And you might even call me an expert on truth. After all, it was my duty to find those who were dishonest.”  
  
“I’m not lying.”  
  
“Yes, you are,” Leo insists. “It is practically seething from your bones. Perhaps you don’t know it; perhaps you tell yourself that you want me wiped off the face of this earth. But the truth is,” and Leo crawls onto the bed, predatory, framing Xavi’s body with his own, and he watches as Xavi pulls away but can’t – can’t because his subconscious is drawn to the words falling off Leo’s lips. “The truth is: your core, the deepest abyss of your soul that sees no light, calls out to me. It calls out to me much like it still calls for your little cupid sitting high up in the sky, watching you; lovesick, sad, _pathetic_. And you don’t know why, do you?”  
He lets his fingers trail over Xavi’s jaw and loosely encircle his neck and Leo sees his eyes go wide and feels his heartbeat pick up pace. “It irks you, that you cannot find out what it is that makes you different, but you’ve always known, haven’t you? There’s always been an invisible burden weighing down your mind; a burden that does not allow you to seek and find happiness, that even lets you fall in love with the impossible simply because it is doomed to fail. Almost as if you had to _punish_ yourself.”  
  
There’s a flicker in those dark eyes, barely a shadow creeping over them, turning them into pools of black ink that swallow up any light that hits their surface. So far from ordinary, Leo muses, and wonders absentmindedly how nobody is seeing this. But then again, most are blind and ignorant and refuse to dig deeper than the outer layers. Yet the intrigue is always hidden, even to Xavi who has no idea what kind of secret he is carrying. He brushes a hand over Xavi’s forehead, skin twitching and senses tingling as he picks up loose threads and starts to weave them together.  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Xavi presses.  
  
“And perhaps that is a good thing,” Leo suggests, resting his hands on Xavi’s temples with a soft but firm pressure. “But I wonder where you left it; where you tossed it down when you decided to disappear. They told us stories, you know? Many nightmarish tales of your existence being torn to shreds by the bluntness of mortality. They used it to scare the cherubs, I think. Never scared me, of course, but I still believed and I had no reason not to. Come to think of it now though, it didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t make sense to me now.”  
  
Xavi laughs dryly, tries in vain to twist away from Leo’s grasp. “Well, that makes two of us, doesn’t it? Because none of this makes sense to me either.”  
  
Leo sighs. “You were always the most honourable of us all, dear brother. You were fulfilling your duty. Why would you feel the need to punish yourself?”  
  
“Get off me.”  
  
“Did it pain you so much,” Leo continues unperturbed by the hands pushing against his chest, “to see him fall by your own hands? After all, you loved him as we all did. As I still do.”  
  
“I said _get off_ ,” Xavi repeats with a hiss and lands his fist against Leo’s collarbone that would have seen any normal being pushed away, yet for Leo it is a mere brush of air. He still takes in the slowly growing panic in Xavi’s appearance, takes it into consideration and moves back, sits down at the foot of the bed and watches as Xavi scrambles up and presses his shoulders against the wall as if he were intending for it to absorb him whole.  
  
“Apologies,” Leo says. “I do get carried away.”  
  
“No shit,” Xavi utters and brushes a hand over his pale face, still softly trembling like quivering branches and leaves in the a calm breeze. “But honestly? If you really want me on your side, you need to stop freaking me the fuck out.”  
  
“I’ll try,” he smiles.  
  
“I’m serious. And I don’t care who the hell you think I am, or what’s in me or whatever. Because I’m not, and it’s not, all right?”  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
It doesn’t fully satisfy Xavi, but Leo can see his expression and stance relax, tension draining from his shoulders even if just slightly. “Okay,” he says, with lingering hesitancy to his voice. “Why would you even want to help me? What’s in it for you? And don’t give any bullshit like wanting justice done. There is something in this for you, and I want to know what.”  
  
“Fine,” Leo answers with a twitch of his shoulders. “I want to go home.”  
  
“Why don’t you just do it then? What’s keeping you?”  
  
“I am fallen, you fool,” Leo bites back. “I am _broken_. This merciful God you all believe in doesn’t allow shattered souls into heaven. Andrés is going to fix it for me. And when he has, I will have the means to elevate your soul and you and him can be together forever.”  
  
“You mean you’re going to kill me.”  
  
“I think by now you’ve figured out that it’s a bit more complicated than that.”  
  
Xavi eyes him sceptically, but Leo has no trouble keeping a straight face. “And that’s supposed to be it? Come on, there’s got to be a rub.”  
  
“No.” Leo shakes his head. “That’s the deal. Plain and simple.”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t believe you,” and Leo has to bit back a frustrated groan, but honestly, he could have suspected this wasn’t going to be easy. He doesn’t need Xavi’s approval for anything, but he’d rather have him as a temporary ally than enemy. “And even if you were telling the truth, which I don’t think you are, plans have a tendency to not go as intended. You’re just waltzing back into heaven like nothing’s happened? But let us just pretend you’re being honest, and all works out in favour of us; what about Villa? Would you leave him alone?”  
  
It would be easy for Leo to spin another lie, to hide the truth, to feed Xavi any answer that would satisfy him enough to sincerely consider Leo’s offer. Yet he still finds himself saying, “I would take him with me.”  
  
Then he vanishes into the night.  
  
  
  
  
Leo doesn’t know why he does the things he does. Sometimes he thinks he’s angry, sometimes he guesses he’s tired. Sometimes he knows he’s lost.  
  
And he doesn’t want to be anymore.  
  
  
  
  
He’s listening to Villa’s heartbeat, calm and steady while he sleeps. Leo doesn’t need to sleep and never does and yet it’s become a habit to watch Villa in this seemingly most vulnerable state when his face relaxes and he looks young and at peace with the world. Leo then drops his ear to his chest and takes in the repetitive thumps, a constant reminder of the most significant difference between them and although Leo finds himself so close to it, it is simultaneously the one thing that truly has the power to keep them apart.  
  
Leo might not have a heart, but when he thinks about Villa’s stopping, about his soul slipping from his grasp to be returned and reborn when time is due without a hint of a memory of their shared time – it hurts. It hurts somewhere deep inside of him and it doesn’t matter how many nights Leo lies awake and wrecks his mind for an answer; he cannot locate the pain and is thus entirely unable to do anything against it. Only when he listens to Villa’s heart, only when Villa opens his eyes in the mornings and looks at him and _smiles_ – only then is that burning sting reduced to a dull ache Leo can forget when he feels warm lips descend on his.  
  
The sun has not yet risen, but Villa stirs awake. Careful fingers start to thread through Leo’s hair and he shifts, and Leo finds himself scooting closer, tightening his arms around Villa’s waist.  
  
“If I were gone,” Leo mutters into Villa’s skin, “would you miss me?”  
  
“I already missed you for a week.” His voice is heavy with sleep, still gruff and slightly muffled by a pillow.  
  
“But I was still there,” Leo disagrees. “You could’ve seen me if you wished to. I mean, if I were to disappear now and never return – would you mourn? Would you feel sad for my loss?”  
  
The hand in his hair stills. “What are you – of course I would. But… okay, you can’t die, right? You can’t just disappear like that.”  
  
“I can’t die,” Leo assures him, calming the heightened pace of Villa’s pulse. “I could perhaps tear myself to shreds from inside out, but I guess that would just destroy this body and my soul would remain.”  
  
“Lovely image,” Villa comments, but then he lets out a relieved breath and touches Leo’s back, traces a finger down his spine and Leo twists his head, brushes his lips across Villa’s collarbone, making him shudder. “Why are you asking though?”  
  
“Just curious,” Leo says.  
  
Villa hums. “I thought it was pretty obvious I don’t want you to go anywhere.”  
  
Leo buries his face against the soft curve between neck and shoulder blade. “I don’t want you to go anywhere either,” he breathes. “But you will. Inevitably. Eventually.”  
  
“That’s life though, isn’t it?” Villa muses and for some reason, his apparent indifference towards the matter is making Leo feel uneasy. “It’s got to end.”  
  
Leo pushes himself up to his elbows and turns to his head, fixes Villa with an inquisitive stare and tries to soak him up at the same time. He was convinced that once he got close enough, his intoxication, his infatuation with him, with his being, with soul, would slowly falter and disappear and he would move on. But somehow, it’s grown stronger and the scent of him is even more captivating, more hypnotising and Leo doubts that he will ever grow tired of sensing Villa’s soul close to his.  
  
“But it’s only a fraction,” he says. “One life is nothing against the backdrop of time’s course. It’s barely worth mentioning.”  
  
But Villa seems untroubled. “Isn’t that the beauty of it?”  
  
“I find it rather cruel,” Leo replies and reaches out a hand to touch the side of Villa’s face. “To spend one’s life trying to find purpose and happiness when eventually, it doesn’t matter, because as time passes, nobody will remember, and it will all be forgotten like it never was in the first place.”  
  
“I guess you’re a glass-half-empty kind of guy, huh?” Villa smiles and laces their fingers together against his cheek. “You shouldn’t be so negative. You’ll end up with a stomach ulcer.”  
  
“I’m just being realistic.”  
  
“Probably,” he admits. “But if all people thought like this, then we’d be a civilisation of under-achievers, wouldn’t we? And we would have never gotten anywhere in the first place. One life might not be much, but there were plenty of people who made a difference.”  
  
“I assume so. Da Vinci was a pleasant enough fellow and –”  
  
He stops when Villa places a finger over his lips. “Oh no, don’t even go there,” Villa says firmly. “This entire conversation is weird enough as it is without you bringing dead, historical acquaintances into it,” and he drops his hand and sigh again, deeply this time, expression morphing into something more serious. “Why are we even talking about this? It’s either too late or still too early for deep stuff and… didn’t we agree to just – go with it? Not talk about this?”  
  
“What would you have me do then?” Leo asks and he can feel his skin shrinking, becoming too small for everything it holds and he does feel angry for some reason, and frustrated, and bitter and he wants to seize Villa by the shoulder and shake him until he understands. But Leo should not even try to make Villa grasp what is troubling him; he shouldn’t have assumed that his mind could grasp such concepts. Nevertheless, he can’t but continue. “Would you have me gaze upon your fading form and not lift a finger?”  
  
Abruptly, Villa sits up and Leo is just quick enough to react or else their heads would have collided in a very unpleasant way. He scrambles back, duvet sliding off his shoulders and comes to sit on his heels, staring at wide eyes in a face frozen in shock.  
  
“Fuck, Leo! You – I know it might not feel like that to you since, oh God, you’re probably a billion years old, but I’m not going to die tomorrow. I drink a lot of coffee and I’m probably not the healthiest person about, but I think I’ve got some years left in me.”  
  
“What if you wouldn’t have to die at all?”  
  
It’s dead silent for a moment, before Villa takes a noisy breath and rubs his hands over his face repeatedly. “Fucking hell, this is insane,” he utters, voice distorted by his own fingers. “Jesus, Leo. You need to stop. I’m trying really hard, I am, but this… it’s _insane_. I’m not one of those people who yearn for immortality and shit. I’m quite at peace with the fact that we are not going to live forever and you can’t –”  
  
“Don’t,” Leo cuts him off. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do. I can, and I will and –”  
  
“But not with _me_. This is my life you’re talking about. Mine. And you can’t decide on my behalf. Fuck, I don’t even want to think about this, okay? So please, can’t we just –” and this time he stops by himself, freezing as he gestures about. “Shit, this… this is really bothering you, isn’t it?”  
  
Leo feels a violent shiver working its way up his throat and now he does want to dig his nails deep into this bloody skin and tear this damned body apart to be free of its limits, of its confinement and he thinks he does claw at his arms, draws violent and angry, red lines across them, wants to soar up into the sky and rain down pain and fire. Yet he stills at a sudden, trickling sensation on his skin, something pearling down his cheek and Villa is suddenly closer than he’d been a few seconds ago and he reaches for him and Leo wants to flinch back, but he doesn’t move as cautious fingertips brush a single, lonely tear off his face.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Villa says quietly. “I… I didn’t want to – I guess we’re both new to this and… oh crap, can you just – come here.”  
  
And as Leo wanted to seize Villa’s shoulders before, Villa grabs his and pulls him against his body and Leo lets him, allows the turmoil inside him to lash about for another few moments before returning the touch, before clinging onto Villa like a drowning man would hold onto a rope leading to a distant shore.  
  
Leo _hates_ it. He hates what this vile place has made of him, what it’s turning him into and he hates that the sheer idea of losing Villa, of being left behind by him, is reducing his mind to a seething sea of flames. He hates that with a few whispered words and a few lingering touches, those flames die out and disappear and he hates the fact that he wants it to be this way.  
  
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Villa says, pressing his lips to Leo’s for a brief second. “There are fucking counselling books for everything, but not for this, so… Maybe a year, a life, doesn’t seem long to you, but it is. And if it upsets you, we can just ignore it, all right? Face it if we ever get there, you know.”  
  
Leo lets himself be soothed by Villa’s voice, finds his anger washed away and replaced with a quiet, but deep-seeded determination to not ever let it get there at all.  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
Villa should be disturbed by everything. Start to finish, freaking out, losing his shit and his fucking mind. But he’s not. He is actually frighteningly calm considering… yeah, and that’s kind of the problem: he doesn’t quite know. Things are happening with sheer lightning speed, rollercoaster ride, skyrocketing; all perfectly fitting descriptions.  
  
So maybe he’s freaking out because he’s not freaking out about fallen angels and falling for fallen angels and fallen angels who might possibly be falling for him also.  
  
All things considered, it shouldn’t be surprising that Villa is battling a massive headache.  
  
  
  
  
“Seriously, Villa. Don’t get on his bad side,” Piqué tells him. Villa doesn’t even know why the cupid keeps bothering him, why he just appeared in his flat out of thin air and basically scared the shit out of him. Maybe because he’s figured out that he doesn’t want to bring love to people, but misery. Shit-eating misery. “You do not want to get on Leo’s bad side.”  
  
“Why?” he asks, just because he’s curious. He wants to know what he is dealing with. “What’s the worst he could do?”  
  
Piqué just distractedly takes a peanut from the bowl Villa has set out on his living room table because he’s writing and he forgets to eat when he does that, and it’s a thing Xavi started to get food into him and – anyway. “Well,” he says. “The last guy who broke his heart was called Orpheus and he got ripped to shreds. _Bloody_ shreds.”  
  
Villa pales. “Orpheus, as in -“  
  
“He was Greek. Was a while ago. Never liked him anyway. He was weird. So yeah, don’t, you know – upset him. Leo kind of knows how to bear a grudge.”  
  
“Right,” Villa says and watches as Piqué weirdly chews on the nut and pulls a face. “Look, I don’t plan on hurting him, or upsetting him. But – what if that happens anyway? Without my fault. And by the way, I can’t actually believe I am asking you for advice, just for the record. I’ve had a tough week.”  
  
“What, you’re just realising _now_ that things might get complicated?” Piqué laughs. “And everyone always says I’m dense. I thought you were a smart one, Villa. Leo wouldn’t like you if you were stupid.”  
  
“I’m not stupid,” Villa scoffs. “I just… Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know what to do? What to expect? I didn’t think that –”  
  
“You would end up liking each other as much as you do?” Piqué interrupts him with a smile and Villa is glad that it’s a sympathetic one at least.  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Cupid, remember?” Piqué says with a wink and okay, perhaps Villa is growing used to him. “Love is kind of my area of expertise.”  
  
“Love, huh?”  
  
“Yup,” Piqué replies and pats him on the shoulder. “You’re so gone, dude. So far gone.”  
  
  
  
  
Villa hasn’t had nightmares since he was a kid and broke his leg playing football. For just one year, he’d dream of invisible hands crushing and twisting his bones and he’d wake up screaming for his parents. The dreams had stopped as soon as he started playing again and he hadn’t wasted much thought on them until now. Because lately, Villa finds himself dreaming and he always remembers when he wakes and he doesn’t want to point fingers, but he wonders if Leo might be the cause for them; if Leo is actually able to send them to him.  
  
Two weeks pass and every night Leo is not with him, is off doing whatever it is fallen angels do in their spare time (this is him slowly trying to coming to terms with it, by introducing the terms to his thoughts), he dreams. And it’s not abstract or vague or even illogical in any sense of the word. It’s frighteningly real, which is why Villa starts to think they might not be dreams at all. He keeps seeing Leo in his dreams, knowing it is him without bearing any resemblance to the Leo he really does know, and Leo is in pain, he can see it in his eyes and he is screaming, voice cutting deep into Villa mind; so deep that he wakes up and aches all over.  
  
He sees Leo fall and sometimes he only sees utter darkness for hours and Villa feels so cold that it takes a few cups of boiling tea in the morning to stop his body from shaking. There are vague noises but shapes so clear and overwhelming it shortens his breath and makes him gasp for air in his wake.  
  
He sees Leo on a battlefield, surrounded by light so harsh and burning that a few remaining survivors around his form groan and burst into flames and then there are dark shadows coiling up like a black tongue and they swallow and consume everything. A voice is in his head and it frightens him like nothing has ever frightened him before and Villa wants to reach out and drag Leo away from all of this, erase all these memories and images and make him understand that there is something other than pain in this world; that there is more to life than dishonesty and deceitfulness.  
  
And then sometimes, he dreams of Xavi. He dreams of him standing out of reach and smiling so sadly it tears a hole into Villa’s heart and then he bursts into a million sparks that disappear like shooting stars.  
  
  
  
  
He doesn’t want to tell Xavi any of it. For the first time in his life, he wants to hide everything from him. But it’s just his luck that it doesn’t matter, that Xavi knows and how; Villa doesn’t want to linger on it; he just thinks that Xavi looks tired and torn, like he has actually broken into the pieces Villa dreams of so often now.  
  
“You need to get away from this,” Xavi tells him with a painful kind of urgency, one that makes Villa’s insides clench, because –  
  
“I think it’s too late for that.”  
  
  
  


***


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: Like always, I own nothing but this 'verse. This is a work of fiction and should be viewed as only such.

_I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world._

**John 16:33**

***

Villa doesn’t know much about love. He’s never really concerned himself with it; it’s never bothered him that he’s not that big on feelings. He loves his family; his mother who was always warm and caring and his father who’d worked his ass off in the mines so that his children could attend University and never want for anything growing up, and his sister although they’d never really seen eye to eye in a lot of things. Villa thinks he might have loved Silva, but definitely not enough or else Silva wouldn’t have complained about it so much, wouldn’t have left eventually to pursue his own life some place else.

Villa is pretty sure he loves Xavi – well, scratch that, he knows he loves Xavi; it’s the exact definition of that love that will forever remain a mystery for him. And now that Leo has come into the mix, Villa is even more confused than ever about the actual concepts of love. It’s why he never writes about it either, why he never makes it essential to his stories. When Villa creates characters, he doesn’t really make them fall in love because he just doesn’t know how people are supposed to fall in love. It’s different for everyone, of course it is, but Villa is pretty sure it follows a few general rules, crosses the same points off a list.

Nothing concerning Leo can be crossed off a list. And the honest to God truth is that Villa knows how he feels about Leo; knows how Leo makes him feel. It doesn’t necessarily translate into knowing what that is, exactly.

Sometimes, things are painfully normal and peaceful. Sometimes, they will have breakfast in bed, mostly consisting of Villa drinking coffee and Leo watching him, because Leo might like to eat, but he doesn’t have to and Villa has yet to figure out in what patterns Leo’s appetite actually works. Coming to think of it, Villa doesn’t think Leo has to sleep either. He’s always there when Villa wakes up, so maybe he’s just being paranoid about things, but there is always something different about him; the smell of sun on his skin, a hint of dust covering his hair, a few snowflakes still clinging to his lashes. Villa wonders where Leo goes, but mainly why he comes back when he can pick anywhere and anyone in the world over him. 

Villa might not get why Leo comes back (but that’s a lie, because Villa does know, he just doesn’t want to admit it and make it more real), but Leo does regardless. And Villa might not know much about love, but he thinks waking up to Leo looking at him is a whole fucking lot like it.

 

Most of the time he forgets who Leo actually is. Most of the time he forgets that there is definitely a God and heavenly creatures and an enormous clusterfuck of things he doesn’t know a fucking thing about. He guesses if he’d still and think about it, it would literally blow his mind and so he doesn’t get any further than shocked and kind of confused, because deities, much like love, are so far out of his mental and emotional comfort zone that he doesn’t have any words to describe it. 

He looks at Leo when he is pretending to sleep in front of the TV and he just can’t comprehend how he can be what he is, this immortal creature containing all of heaven’s wrath and who once knew nothing but death and punishment yet still shudders a little when Villa kisses him, who sighs and looks on wondrously if Villa is being anything but rough. It’s surreal, simply put, and perhaps Villa is screwed up like that when he finds himself fascinated and weirdly turned on by the fact that once, long ago, entire nations knelt down and worshipped Leo like the heavenly avenger he possibly still is inside.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he tells Xavi over the phone when Leo is – somewhere (Villa tries not to think about it too much). 

“Nothing new to me,” Xavi replies like the dick he is and Villa rolls his eyes.

“What is this about living in glass houses and throwing stones?” and Xavi laughs. Villa clears his throat. “No, but seriously. I think my brain and logic have disconnected somewhere along the way. Which, to be fair, isn’t a surprise at all. But – yeah, there is something wrong with me if I find this whole avenging-for-God thing turns me on, right?”

Xavi groans on the other end of the line and it’s not the groan Villa’s grown accustomed to hearing. “If I tell you no, will you leave me alone?”

“No,” Villa states flat out and moves into the kitchen to roam through his cupboards; he finds Leo’s sweet tooth rubs off on him. “I know you’re not a fan of Leo – actually, I think not many people would be if they knew he were around – but Xavi, you’ve got to suck it up and be a little more appreciative.”

“Why?”

“Because your brain would still be scrambled eggs without him. Hell, you would’ve probably been scrambled eggs by now.”

“Ugh,” Xavi says. “I just had dinner.”

Villa smiles. “Hope it wasn’t Bolognese.” He finds the box of biscuits that’s been in one of the drawers for ages now; he’s actually surprised Leo hasn’t found and emptied it yet. “I mean it though, Xavi. I’m being absolutely serious. He helped you, and I doubt you told him thanks.”

“Not like he did it for my sake,” Xavi mutters and Villa can practically see him scowling as if he were standing right beside him in his kitchen.

“Why else would he help you?” he argues, tearing into the paper box, fiddling it open with his fingers. “’s not like he got anything out of it.”

“Is that what he’s telling you?”

Xavi sounds fucking condescending and Villa doesn’t like it one bit. They’ve been there before, kind of; Xavi the ambitious professional, the serious journalist with publishing ambitions, looking down on Villa and his mere fictional stories. Well, perhaps he is being unfair, perhaps he is exaggerating when he thinks of it as Xavi being snotty about it – it had just felt that way. Villa is perfectly aware that Xavi’s brains are hard to match, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is a delusional fool.

“Don’t patronise me,” he says nonetheless, growing frustrated with this conversation (why did he even fucking ring Xavi in the first place, it’s not like he wasn’t aware of the fact that Xavi is not exactly Leo’s fan), growing frustrated with that stupid plastic wrapper keeping him from satisfying his chocolate craving. “I like him, get over it.” Xavi snorts and it makes him slam those bloody biscuits down onto the counter in a temper. “Is that so unbelievable to you? That I genuinely like him? I wouldn’t be getting into this crap otherwise, all right? And is it so hard to believe that he is interested in me too?”

There’s a heavy sigh clearly audible through his phone. “That’s not the point,” Xavi replies and there’s a soft creak steadily echoing in the background, like he’s walking circles in his living room, making the old floorboards groan with every step. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he is very much interested in you. But I don’t think you’re aware of the scale of things. He is not just a random guy you met at a café.”

“I know he’s not.”

“I don’t think you really do. I don’t think you realise what you’re getting into.”

Villa watches as the biscuits crumble under the pressure of his hand. “Then why don’t you tell me, oh enlightened one? Huh, Xavi? Why don’t you tell me what the fuck I’m doing with my bloody life?”

“I,” Xavi starts and pauses, hesitation suddenly evident in his voice. It’s quiet. “I don’t want fight with you.”

“Oh no,” Villa says and points at nothing and nobody, but he needs something to do with his trembling hand. “We’re fighting, we’re talking about this and you’re not backing the fuck out! This is my life, these are my choices, all right? Because since we’re all suddenly so big on this whole God thing, free will is a gift granted humanity, isn’t it? So I’m bloody using it. And you better arrange yourself with it.”

Xavi is long silent on the other end and Villa knows he’s chewing on his lips, fiddling with the hem of his jumper like a nervous teenagers and there are some habits neither of them will ever grow out of; Villa hasn’t decided yet if that’s a good thing or not.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually speaks up again. “But I’m worried. I really am. And I still think that you need to think things over.”

It’s Villa’s turn to sigh. “Again, glass house? Maybe that would be an authentic advice if you didn’t spend weeks being depressed over your own lost angel boyfriend. And if you tell me that’s different, I’m going to get into my car, drive over to yours, and hit you square in the face.”

“But Andrés is different,” Xavi presses and Villa can tell how Xavi struggles with it, almost says was, almost admits to the fact that he is gone and won’t be coming back and still not coping, still not coming to terms with anything and Villa really truly loves Xavi, but he’s so not taking his word for anything at the moment.

“Well,” he admits, “maybe he is. But guess why, Xavi. Please. Humour me.”

“Stop that.”

“Why? Because you don’t want to think about heaven as some fucked-up, communist state that tells its citizens what to do and if they misbehave, heads roll? That’s what it is. And maybe your cupid will always be a follower, but don’t blame Leo for being smarter than that.”

“You’re talking like he’s some sort of revolutionary,” Xavi says and Villa’s hears him pacing again. “Fine, tell yourself that. But he’s not. He’s an executioner. Perhaps it wasn’t his choice then, but don’t think he’s changed the slightest bit.” He sighs. “And if you don’t believe me, maybe talk to the ones who’ve known him for a while.”

 

Villa doesn’t talk to Kun, or Gonzalo, or Piqué, mainly because he doesn’t want to hand Xavi that victory, perhaps slightly fears a smug I told you so; also, what the hell is he supposed to ask or say anyway? But – and Villa isn’t proud of it – he watches Leo with them. He thinks he remembers his mother telling him when he was little that people revealed their true faces when being surrounded by their loved ones, and he guesses that two wayward demons and a goofy cupid are as close to a family as Leo has these days, even if it is (and do excuse Villa’s language) the biggest fuck up of a family Villa has ever known. 

Gonzalo is ever doting on Leo; hovering around him and soaking up everything he says, eyes catching every move he makes, attentive in a way a big brother would be, willing to forgive every error or misbehaving, wanting to spoil beyond reason. Leo is… not dismissive of Gonzalo’s attention, but he doesn’t reciprocate it, seems happier when Gonzalo once in a while forgets his subtle worship and teases rather than adores. Leo twists his face into a scowl when Gonzalo grips him tight, lifts him up like a doll, winds his arm around his neck, but Villa knows that Leo secretly doesn’t mind it too much. Villa finds he doesn’t mind it too much either, at least not anymore, although in his mind, he confesses that it did cross his thoughts to tell Gonzalo to kindly back the fuck off.

Kun is – well. Villa still finds him irritating from time to time, doesn’t understand how any being can be this cheerful from sunrise to sunset and possibly also in between. He used to tolerate him, much like Gonzalo, because he whispers to Leo and makes him laugh, prods and pokes at him until he elicits an honest smile and distracts him with jokes and other things to cheer him up when Leo drifts off into this dark place nobody but him can really access; now Villa surprises himself by realising he actually likes Kun. Mostly, he likes how Leo lightens up around him and perhaps he feels a little jealous that he can’t do that; that he is not enough – but Villa is done with being selfish like that. 

Piqué is the odd one out, in a way, and Villa doubts that Kun and Gonzalo have warmed to him (maybe they find his invisible heavenly glow disturbing or unpleasant; it’s not like Villa is an expert on this), but he still drops by unannounced and irregularly, ignores some pointed looks and defies them with a smile before dragging Leo off to do whatever and then they disappear for an hour or so, at most. Sometimes they only play cards in a corner of the coffee shop and Leo sits Indian style on an old armchair, scrunching up his nose in concentration and absentmindedly chewing on his lower lip until it is reddened. 

That’s how Villa finds him on this day as he walks through the door, the old rusty bell above it already a familiar sound in his ears, leaving behind unpleasant cold and rain. The entire room smells of cinnamon and Kun waves at him from behind the counter. Leo jerks his head into his direction and his face splits in a smile that sends an invisible fist to his chest, pounding at his heart until Villa can feel it swell.

Xavi might say people don’t change; or whatever beings they are. But Villa knows that’s not true. He can feel a shift and tremor creating ripples beneath his own surface.

 

***

 

Leo knows it’s not his fault; it’s not his own doing. His Father has created him this way, has installed something in his being that would rid him of choice, and Leo has spent his entire existence fighting to quench this born suppression inside of him. No will of his own and forced to love and serve the lowest of his creations, and Leo overcame this burden a long time ago, yet he still feels the aftershock, still feels drawn to humankind in some way and can’t leave this sphere for very long even if he tries. He’s grown used to them, gotten familiar with their quirks, which doesn’t translate into him holding them in any higher regard than before. 

Leo still thinks they’re scum. Dirt beneath his shoes not even bothersome enough to be scraped off his soles. 

Still, Leo has come to realise that if you rake your hands through dirt long enough, sieve it with water and pay attention, once in a while, you encounter a diamond. Someone raw and beautiful who catches the light and reflects it in a million different colours that light up dark and hidden away corners and secret paths laid out so nobody would ever find them. A hidden gem, so rare and precious that Leo wants to shield him off so no one else dare lay eyes upon him and thus taint him, because – because he is not like them, he is special and different and Leo wants to cradle him to his chest and savour his light.

He turns his head and looks at Villa sleeping in the dark custody of his bedroom, face towards Leo, neck bared and arms stretched out as if he had no single worry in the world and nothing would ever threaten him and Leo will see to it that it stays that way, suddenly can’t bear the thought of ever not spending the hours after sunset close to Villa’s warmth and listening to the solid and steady sound of his heartbeat. And within the shelter of Villa’s home, Leo senses words welling up in his throat, obscure letters that only slowly carry forward meaning, still hazy but becoming clearer by the minute. He knows he can’t speak them, can barely think them without a biting quench to his chest. 

But lying here, he does want to tell Villa everything; wants to say that Leo would open the gates of hell to give significance to his claim on him. That he would bring heaven to its knees for them to stay together. That Leo would strike down every single one of his brothers and even His Father with his very own sword if they would attempt to take Villa from him. He would overcome them all. And he will. 

Leo lets his fingers ghost over Villa’s collarbones; he stirs but does not wake and for a moment, as Leo takes in the sight of his hand hovering around Villa’s neck, he contemplates forcing his grip around it and snapping the bones like a twig. He could watch his soul flicker and rise and he could catch it before it got close to the higher spheres. But despite claiming otherwise, Leo doesn’t want to force Villa. He wants Villa to have the choice and he wants Villa to choose Leo above anything else. 

So Leo leans down and he doesn’t tell Villa any of this, but he places soft kisses onto his skin, one syllable for every touch of lips and he wants to think that his words sink down and he locks them up with his tongue, burying secret after secret beneath the mortal shell of Villa’s body.

Leo continues even when he has nothing left to give, when all his thoughts are empty and cleared out and maybe Villa deserves more, but it’s all Leo has and he never had a lot. But he can’t stop touching and putting his lips right where Villa’s heart is a constant reminder of life, a metronome of time and perhaps – if Leo allows himself to be foolish – some kind of… And he lets his thoughts trail off, lets his mind quiet down as Villa shuffles and blinks at him with bleary eyes through velvet lashes, reaching out with a hand still heavy a softly trembling with sleep.

“Hey,” he says with a heavy tongue, slightly slurred and croaky and he urges Leo up with fingers placed lightly on his jaw.

Leo holds his eyes for a moment, relishing what lingers heavily between them, then he rises to his hands and knees and with quick movements, he sees eye to eye with Villa, lowering first his hips, then his chest, then his lips onto Villa’s. He responds eagerly, fatigue still climbing to his limbs, but he winds slow and warm arms around Leo’s shoulders to secure him firmly against his body, hands coming to on his neck, tilting his head, deepening the kiss and welcoming a pleasant heat in the cold hours of the morning.

“You’re cuddly this morning,” Villa tells him with a twitch of his lips when they part. “Not that it bothers me,” he quickly adds. “I’m just – wondering.”

Leo stills and pushes himself up slightly to get a better look at him. “I can’t believe it took me so long to find you,” he says and realises that there’s a secret left in him after all and now he feels oddly bare and open – vulnerable. But Villa just stares at him in silence; thoughtful perhaps, taking it in before he smiles.

“Well. I’m just glad you did.”

Touching his palm to Villa’s cheek, Leo leans down again. “Me too,” he mutters into Villa’s mouth before diving in for another open kiss, without haste and unrushed, calm and warm. He drags his tongue against Villa’s, solid thuds against his chest, careful fingers in his hair, making every nerve in his human shell stand on end like tiny electric impulses that pulse momentary life through him like an artificial heartbeat. One of Villa’s hands moves down his spine, tracing and circling vertebra after vertebra to the dip of his hips before digging into them and pulling Leo closer. He can feel Villa’s heat again his thigh as he moves them over, twists his body until he’s hovering over Leo, curling their lower bodies together. 

Leo lets his head fall into the pillows with a silent gasps. Villa latches onto his throat, teeth dragging and tongue soothing over until Leo’s skin is feeling raw, desire climbing higher and impending between them, yet somehow, Leo feels no need to urge Villa on just yet. He likes the attention and care Villa bestows on him, and only him, and usually he lets him have this for a while before taking control of the act. But now, he wants to savour it; wants to wallow in bodily pleasures that will perhaps soon be beyond them both, so he captures Villa’s mouth again, pulls at it with his teeth, inwardly groaning to the sound of the hiss it allows to surface and he runs his hands down Villa’s sides, feeling his ribs, his hips and firm flesh before tangling their legs, dragging the heel of his foot up the back of Villa’s calf, and down again.

“How do you want me?” he breathes against the hot skin of Villa’s shoulder, watching as a tremor curses through him and there it is again, that look in his eyes, that soft way with which he frames Leo’s fades and cradles his head like he’s afraid that –

“I would have you every way. Again,” Villa says between kisses. “And again. And again.” And then he moves down Leo’s body, breath cool on Leo’s skin, already shining with sweat despite the chill seeping through thin window panes as Villa roams his hands over his abdomen, covering every inch of skin with his mouth.

And I would let you, Leo thinks, twisting on crumpled sheets until he is lying on his stomach and feels Villa draping himself over his back. He rises to his knees once more and welcomes Villa’s heat inside of him, rapidly spreading like wildfires in Ancient Greece, lets him press his lips to his neck repeatedly, no doubt leaving marks on this pale and frail skin to perhaps make a subconscious claim his way, perhaps bury some secrets on his own that Villa doesn’t want to say out loud either. 

With every thrust, long and languid, air gets pushed out of Leo’s body; air he doesn’t need anyway and it somehow still feels like he’s choking; throat tight, skin crawling, hands slipping on damp sheets. Villa’s groan reaches his ears and he can’t help but answer it with one of his own, muffled by the pillows he brushes his heated face across, tide approaching quickly despite the slow rhythm of Villa’s hips, crawling like insects beneath the surface of his skin; flesh-eating scarabs, wicked and divine, eliciting a pain so hot and fiery that it turns to pleasure as soon as it blossoms in his belly.

Villa embraces him, pulls him up and back, changes the angle in a way that makes Leo ache to the tip of his hairs, blowing more kisses onto Leo’s bared throat at his head falls back onto Villa’s shoulder. He lifts his left arm and touches their cheeks together, Villa’s stubble creating yet more bittersweet friction that unburies noises still foreign on Leo’s tongue, but he craves this, he’s grown addicted to this and it’s not to his fault that he finds himself falling for Villa; His Father installed servitude and devotion and it still ripples through Leo’s being, weighs heavily but is lifted off the next instant because Villa gives him everything back and more.

Villa presses a trembling kiss to his lips, far more urgent and desperate than the ones before, laden with want and drawn out like this were to be the last kiss they ever shared. 

Leo circles his hips, meets Villa’s every thrust, solid and deep, hesitations thrown overboard as their moans and cries of pleasure echo back and forth between the walls and wet skin, slick and hot, slides together until they move as one, lower bodies stuttering and Villa sneaks his arms tightly around him as if he were holding on for dear life and well, maybe he is, maybe they both are and Leo has stopped to give a flying fuck about the meaning of any of this. He just wants.

One last curl of their hips and Leo sees white light, feels burning heat, and Villa bites down on his neck to muffle the sounds of his climax. They fall forward, devoid of all energy and strength to keep upright, Villa still glued to Leo’s back but when he starts to move, Leo winds an iron grip around his wrists and doesn’t let him back off even an inch. 

The air is heavy in the aftermath, heavy with things unspoken and feelings unexpressed and Leo doesn’t close his eyes, even when, after a while, he notices Villa’s breath evening out against the back of his neck. Instead he looks ahead, watches the sun rise outside the window and wallows in his own thoughts as the city slowly wakes up.

At this point, Leo would start the second War in Heaven and send the world towards its doom, because he cannot imagine ever being without Villa again. But that’s a secret he keeps firmly to himself.

 

“Do you remember Michael?”

Leo doesn’t appreciate the darkness and the icy air is a harsh slap to his skin after basking in Villa’s warmth all day, letting the sun caress their bare forms through the windows.

A hoarse chuckle reaches his ears. “Do I remember my own brother who struck me and dragged me to Our Father for judgment despite knowing what he would do to me? What do you think, little brother?”

“Well, it was a rather rhetorical question,” Leo comments. “I do know you remember him well.”

“Then what is the point of your question?”

“I’m just here to tell you,” Leo starts, moving closer, smelling the ash; a burning soul, form slowly being reduced to dust, unpleasant and sharp. “That I have found him.”

“What?” His voice is harsh and biting, commanding but Leo doesn’t let that bother him in any way. He is still the one holding the cards and now he’s got yet another ace up his sleeve. It’s almost cruel, this shameless teasing, but it’s not like Leo is know down here for being nice. It’s not like Lucifer would buy it if Leo were.

“I have found him,” Leo repeats with patience. “Quite a funny story, actually. A story you should learn to appreciate, and I’m sure you will. See, Michael, Our Father’s beloved and dearest favourite watched you fall and oh my, he was struck with guilt. Ironic, right?” Leo smiles dryly. “It tore him up from inside, these feelings we weren’t born to have but poor Michael had suddenly and accidentally grown a conscience. And you know what he did?”

“Enlighten me, baby brother,” Lucifer drawls.

“See, now you’re being ironic,” Leo muses. “It doesn’t really suit you though. But as I was saying, guilt ate him up and so Michael flung himself after you. I don’t know if what happened next was his intention, but – he lost hold of his soul. Was reborn as a human. Was most likely reborn as a human multiple times. So many times, in fact, that he is now entirely unaware of his heritage and is nothing more than a man.”

His brother is silent, waiting for him to continue.

“The best part is: he is the one that little cupid has fallen in love with. What are the odds?”

“What are the odds indeed,” he says slowly, calculative and Leo can sense that he is already piecing it all together. “And I assume he has unknowingly become part of your scheme.”

“Oh yes,” Leo replies. “He is too unpredictable for my liking, and that cupid has planted some thoughts in his head that I have yet to erase, but – think of it as what it is. The only archangel capable of keeping you from seeking revenge: stuck on earth, no more special than any common person. Going to be a walk in the park.”

“So optimistic? That doesn’t sound anything like you.”

Leo shrugs. “I’ve had a change of heart.

“You don’t have a heart,” Lucifer reminds him.

Leo feels his burning gaze digging into his chest. “I don’t. But I have found one I’d like to keep.”

His brother remains quiet for just a moment, then a chopped, cold laugh echoes around them and carries on to other parts of the pit where it will undoubtedly chill the bones of many lost souls. 

“Then I advise you to be careful, little brother. We wouldn’t want anyone to take it away from you.”

 

Leo can’t wait to watch the heavens fall. And take Villa away from this wretched place.

 

He keeps moving rapidly, fearing that too much time spent with Villa might cloud his judgment and influence his decisions and actions without him realising it until it’s too late. These are delicate matters and in order to be successful, he needs to place his words carefully. Yet with Villa still so present in his mind, Leo finds it hard to concentrate, so he rises from deepest corners of purgatory and lifts himself up into heaven, softly and quietly treading to not be discovered. He feels his form stripped and bared, Villa a soft flicker in the back of his mind, delicate like a crystal bell, sounding upon movement.

“I’m growing impatient, Andrés. I would have your choice sooner rather than later. For your sake,” he insists. “You see, humans are such fickle creatures. In time, Xavi might focus his affections on someone else.”

“Then I would be happy for him,” the cupid replies, holding his glance steadily, unwavering.

Leo blinks at him. “Where did you learn to lie like that, brother? And without even the slightest twitch. I’m impressed.”

“You always assume I’m lying when I tell nothing but the truth.”

“It couldn’t be further from the truth,” Leo says and moves closer, pleased with the fact that Andrés doesn’t flinch away. “It would cripple your soul, dear brother. It would cripple it beyond recognition to see his touch on someone else’s skin. It would make you gain knowledge of the vicious beast called jealously to witness him spending his life with another. To watch him fall in love; marry; perhaps raise a family. You might even get the pleasure of making acquaintance with anger. And hate.”

Andrés doesn’t have an answer to that. Leo can see through him and he is perfectly aware of that. He knows his soul is already a shadow of itself and only Pep’s good will and charity have restored him to his former position amongst his fellow cherubs. But being forced to set eyes upon his love falling for someone else – it would disfigure him and make him unfit to serve and his superiors would see him removed. And Andrés is a bright one; he knows that Leo is his best chance of getting out of the mess he got himself into. (Although Leo has to admit, he is partially responsible for that.)

Andrés swallows thickly. A trait picked up during his month on earth. “All right,” he says eventually. “I’m going to regret this, I know. I’m going against my better judgment. But…”

Leo smiles. “You’ve got nothing left to lose,” he finishes for his brother.

He almost feels sorry for him.

 

“I’ve got a sensitive nose, you know,” Kun tells him when he finds his way to the coffee shop after one or two days of absence (Leo doesn’t pay that much attention). “You’re like, a really evil mixture of heaven and hell. You smell like… like burnt chocolate.”

“No he doesn’t,” Gonzalo calls from the kitchen. “It’s a mix of rotten eggs and lemon.”

Leo raises his brows at both of them. “You can’t even taste anything, you sure as fuck don’t know what I smell like. And may I add, you two smell like burnt sulphur. Still. Go have a bath.”

“I don’t think it’d come off with water,” Kun says, downing a cup of boiling hot coffee without as much as a flinch. “But hey, maybe your boyfriend could volunteer to give me a good scrub.”

Leo throws an empty mug at him (luckily they’re past their closing time), but Kun ducks his head minimally and it shatters against the wall. “He’s not my boyfriend. Don’t call him that. It’s ridiculous.”

“To human, huh?” Gonzalo comments, emerging from the kitchen, once again looking like he tried to turn himself into a pastry, and leans against the doorframe, frowning at the shards lying to his feet. “Oh man, stop breaking our interior. Crockery is expensive. I paid good money for that.”

“You didn’t pay anything for that,” Leo huffs and moves past the counter, letting his body fall into the armchair he usually occupies when Piqué is visiting, their deck of cards still on the table in an unfinished game and – and it feels weird. There’s a shudder that grabs hold of him for the fracture of a second and Leo blinks, shakes his head and shrugs it off.

Kun and Gonzalo wander over and join him and Gonzalo gathers the cards without second thought, starts building something out of them yet not taking his eyes off Leo. Leo knows they want to ask questions, but they’re still afraid; of the answers, of him, he can’t tell. He’s sure they want to ask why he visited his brother once again. They’ve been at Lucifer’s mercy, are part of his pawn and what his presence in the pit makes of lost souls strayed off their righteous paths, and they trust him as far as they can throw him, which equals not at all. They want to know why he still takes on the even more dangerous journey to heaven, although he hates it and wants to see it gone.

But Leo can’t tell them. Although why… Perhaps because he knows he wouldn’t like their reactions. Perhaps because he knows that they know anyway; that they’ve grown far too good at reading him, seeing through his façade and the little untruths he tells here and there to obscure reality. Maybe they’re not entire failures in their existence. They certainly don’t lack intelligence, even though there are moments Leo does suspect so. No, what they’re missing is cruelty. Malice.

So he continues to sit in silence, Kun’s eyes upon him, watching Gonzalo construct something that reminds him of the Eiffel Tower. Last week he’d made macaroons, so maybe that’s got something to do with it. It wouldn’t surprise him to find Gonzalo spying on French pastry chefs, stealing their recipes and spending days on end to copy them. Leo sighs and leans back, lets his head drop to the side and when a brief thought flutters through his head, he has to still and hold his breath.

He thinks, if Villa were here, and maybe Piqué, it would almost be agreeable. He thinks, maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

Then he quickly discards that thought with a firm shake of his head, ignoring Kun’s questioning gaze, and looks out the window.

The skies open up and rain starts to hit the cobbled pavements. 

***

 

For a while, it’s just so easy. It’s so frighteningly easy to be with Leo, something Villa would have never, in a million years, assumed in the beginning.

But it is.

Leo is his morning and his evening and every minute of every moment in between. Everything else pales in comparison when he is sitting at the desk in his study, drafting and re-drafting ideas that float through his mind (almost constantly these days and Villa guesses they are remnants from the dreams Leo sends them, if he is indeed the one who does so, but they grow increasingly vivid each time he closes his eyes), and quiet footsteps sound before he feels solid arms draped over his shoulders. When he feels Leo nuzzling his neck, pressing lips to his hair and slowly but determinedly letting his hands trail lower and lower down Villa’s chest until he can do no more but open his mouth to the ceiling in a silent gasp.

The physicality of it all still baffles Villa from time to time; surprised by his own wants and needs and desires and how he is never satisfied anymore, how nothing turns out to be quite enough and he has to stay for more. Yet the emotional force he feels gravitating between them is something Villa will never understand. Perhaps it was a slippery slope, or a steady climb, or maybe Villa just saw Leo and fell so hard and fast he didn’t even notice hitting the ground, and he is already lying shattered on concrete, neck broken and heart blown into a million pieces by the sheer for of the collision. 

But Villa doesn’t understand; he doesn’t understand Leo either. Not at all, in fact, which isn’t ideal, but he doesn’t let it bother him. It just makes him wonder about things; about Leo’s thoughts that he hides so well, about the way he is even able to feel, but mostly why he decides to stay. 

So Villa tries not to give Leo reason to leave. 

Small things occur to him, things that Leo might enjoy in some way, but he remains unsure and never suggests them; unfortunately, there is no section in the daily paper that lists recommended daytime activities for fallen angels. He doesn’t think asking Piqué would bear any results, because he is just an occasional visitor; asking Kun and Pipita whether Leo might have anything that could be considered a hobby – well. Kindly put, it makes Villa feel a little queasy. 

It’s why he remains mostly quiet when he finds himself at Xavi’s, flicking through a magazine. Of course his friend notices, and he doesn’t have the tact to not point it out.  
Villa doesn’t want to tell Xavi, mainly because (although he doesn’t know it yet) Xavi doesn’t want know. They have reached a silent agreement to refrain from mentioning Leo when they’re spending time together, which has been a rare occasion as of late. If Villa is not working, not sleeping, he is with Leo and Xavi – well Villa doesn’t know what’s up with Xavi these days and he realises now that it’s an unpleasant feeling. 

So he says, “I’m just… wondering what Leo might like to do.” The truth, straight out, and Xavi pulls a face. “Oh come on, you asked.”

“I did,” Xavi says, twists his mouth into an uncooperative smile. “Okay, fine, you know what? Lets just – lets just stop being idiots about this. And please let me live for this, but… you were right. I shouldn’t judge.”

“Did you have some sense with your breakfast this morning?” Villa quips.

“Villa.”

“All right, sorry.”

“Anyway,” Xavi continues with an ounce hesitation. “I just – thought of it, I guess. Andrés, he… I took him up the coast. I think he enjoyed it. At least – I hope he did. He’d… never seen the sea before.”

Villa stills and feels his insides go quiet and solemn as he keeps his eyes on Xavi, sad and heavy with thoughts and memories and fuck knows what he’s going through at the moment, and fuck Villa for being selfish and thinking only about his own problems. He’d been a prick and a fool at the same time, not paying attention to the fact that the best friend he’ll ever have has lost, well… the love of his life for a lack of a better description. 

“That’s strange,” Villa says because it is, when he really stops and thinks about it. To some almighty being created by God, something at simple as the sea should hardly be overwhelming. “But – I don’t think there’s anything Leo’s never seen. He’s got a couple of hundred years of a head start, you know?”

“Has he been to the Camp Nou?”

“I’m sure he –” and Villa breaks off. “Oh, no fucking way, Xavi. I am not taking him to a football match on our first proper date. I am not you.”

Xavi shrugs innocently, and Villa hopes he is fully aware of the fact that he is a bloody weirdo. “Just an idea. They’re playing Athletic, so it’s sure to be a good game.”

“Xavi,” Villa insists, “I am not taking him to watch football. I am not.”

“Listen Villa. Just stop thinking about it. I doubt there’s anything you can actually impress him with. And I can’t believe I’m sounding like some middle-aged agony aunt, but I think simply spending time together will do the job.”

“Oh dear,” Villa says. “Maybe you should a guide to successful relationships.”

Xavi laughs dryly. “Sarcasm is noted, but not appreciated. I’m just saying, take it or leave it. Don’t overdo it. You tend to be dramatic.”

Villa tilts his head with a sceptical glance he fixes on his friend. “Says the one who managed to fall in love with an actual cupid.”

“Touché.”

 

They go for walks. When the apartment or the coffee shop start closing in on them, shrinking like a jumper washed too hot, tight and weird to the touch, they walk out the door, sometimes even in the middle of the night when Leo’s eyes seem at their darkest and he glances up at the stars with such disdain Villa wishes he could paint them black. 

They don’t run into many people when it’s late or very early and for a while, Villa guesses that Leo dislikes large crowds. But perhaps he doesn’t mind them that much after all, he realises after a while; because he seems intrigued by their behaviour, like it’s some wildlife show on TV, only with humanity serving as bait for some invisible but nevertheless approaching, ever lurking predator and – he has no idea where that came from. But it’s more intrigue and curiosity than actual pleasure, which is fine by him.

Perhaps it is also that they can so seamlessly disappear amongst them, hidden from any curious eyes watching them. 

It’s still something Villa has to grow used to; the thought that there are in fact being watched, perhaps at all time, and it makes him wonder if there is such think as blasphemy, if Villa is committing it and whether he is going to go to hell for it. Well, even if he does go to hell – he’s had a pretty good run so far and if the creatures down there are anything like Kun and Gonzalo… 

Sometimes only their shoulders bump every few minutes. Sometimes Leo takes his hand and doesn’t let go for hours. 

It’s so easy and sometimes Villa asks himself how easy it could be if they could do this forever.

 

It’s a quiet morning in February, early enough for the streets to still be deserted on a Saturday. The cobbles are almost white with frost, but there are first careful and soft touches of light hitting the stones, making them sparkle. It feels like the first rays of the sun breaking through the clouds in months. It’s been a long winter. It’s been an unusually long and dark and cold winter, but now the few blue patches peeking through feathery masses tell of spring. The light is breaking, diverted by the windows and reflecting off some metal frames adorning the walls. It catches in his eye, blinds him momentarily and he has to lift a hand to his forehead to shield it off, adjusting his position on the worn armchair so that he can actually see the people (or not people) gathered around the table.

He sneezes when some dust rises up in his nose.

“Bless you,” Kun tells him from across, and winks, evicting a snorted laugh from Piqué, shuffling the deck of cards and dealing them out with practised ease.

Actually, they all seem very much at ease right this moment. It’s an unusual sense of calm, of peace; only Xavi looks like he’d rather be somewhere else, but Villa hadn’t given him a choice in the matter. Xavi will get over it, eventually, and Villa has learned that the best way to make him is by throwing him into the deep end and making him deal with it. Dragging him into the coffee shop before opening hours (Xavi had been appeased by the promise of caffeine) had earned Villa a few raised brows, but now they’re all leaning back around another round of cards, a stack of plates dusted with crumbs discarded on the side. 

A socked foot brushes up his calf and Villa finds himself momentarily distracted. He looks to his left. Leo has one leg dragged up against his chest while the other is touching Villa’s, not sparing a glance into his direction, yet there is a barely-there smile playing around the corners of his mouth as he arranges the deck in his hand. Villa returns the nudge with a smile and that makes Leo raise his eyes. He is not that big on PDA in general, but in that moment, Villa can’t help but lean in, tug on Leo’s jumper, and briefly slide their lips together. A soft sigh stutters between them and Villa can’t tell if it’s risen from his throat or Leo’s. 

When they part, Villa notices Kun and Gonzalo pointedly looking the other way and Piqué is so engrossed in his cards that he doubts the cupid noticed at all. But Xavi returns his look dead on. It doesn’t make Villa uncomfortable but – but. Yeah so maybe Villa doesn’t want to get into that; stuff about him not being like this, and whatever else Xavi might be thinking, because he’s always thinking a lot, much like Leo, and Villa is still convinced that aside all precious animosities, they would get on pretty damn well. Most likely scarily well. 

Villa raises his left brow and Xavi tilts his head and then Piqué kicks him in the shin because it’s his turn; he keeps forgetting about the game. At one point Xavi lets out a breathy laugh and says, “this is the most surreal moment of my life”, but Villa supposes that by now, they all have their stories to tell. When it comes to that, he definitely does not want to get into the deep end. He already has enough obscurities stored in his head that will let the writer inside of him never come to rest.

He notices that the clock goes past eight, and past nine, and a few people walk past the windows, a handful comes to a halt in front of the door to peek inside; but neither Gonzalo nor Kun nor Leo bother to get up and unlock the door, flip the sign from closed to open. With every round they play, Leo shifts imperceptibly closer until, around ten, he’s draped over the armrest of his own seat, head resting against Villa’s shoulder and his non-breath penetrating the thin fabric of Villa’s shirt. At one point, Gonzalo disappears into the kitchen for a while and comes back with a batch of brownies that virtually crush the last of Xavi’s miserable mood.

It’s not entirely perfect, but Villa feels like this is his; like this could become his life and it sends an odd sense of calm through his body, down to his bones. It’s perfect for him, for them – and of course this is the moment it all goes to fuck.

At first, Villa has no idea what happens (it’s a state he will probably remain in for longer than he’d like). Suddenly, it’s quiet and then there’s a sound that echoes endlessly, full-bodied and hollow, like someone had taken the largest metal bell in the world and dropped it in the middle of the street outside. Villa would have assumed for the sound to be nothing more than – well, a sound. It’d loud, but not painfully so, not piercing and eardrum shattering. But then he sees Piqué and Leo freeze with wide eyes; then he sees Gonzalo and Kun recoil with torn faces, covering their ears and tumbling to the ground, bodies curled and arms firmly wound around their heads. And then Kun lets out a scream that, never in a million years, he would mistake with a human’s. It digs right into Villa’s chest and chills his blood and there is a shiver crawling up his spine and – 

Leo is already halfway across the room. Only once he’s torn open the door and stepped out does some sense of motion capability return to Villa. He clambers to his feet and suddenly, multiple chairs scrape over the wooden floor and he finds himself closely followed by Xavi as he runs after Leo and out onto the street. Stuttering to a halt, he see Piqué is already out here, like he’s got fucking Scotty up in the sky doing some decent beaming. Leo is not too far away, standing in the middle of the road, only wearing his socks, his shoes forgotten, a bright red contrast to cold, grey concrete.

Then he startles. His brain takes a moment to catch up with his eyes, but he hears Xavi gasp next to him and it hits him. 

Everything is grey. Leo’s socks are the only drops of colour. It looks like somebody has picked them up and dropped them into a black and white film. There might be a possibility that Villa is losing his mind right about now. 

“Oh my God,” Xavi breathes. 

And all Villa can think is that Leo would find that funny, if Leo were paying any attention to them, but he isn’t, because his back is turned to them, eyes apparently glued to someone on the other side of the road. Some guy in the same fucking clothes Piqué is always wearing and fuck him if he doesn’t where this is heading. Another cupid, another angel or heavenly creature and he is almost as white as the coat he’s got draped over his shoulders, with bare feet and bright eyes. Bright, yes, but not as bright as whatever that fucking thing is he is holding in his hand. 

A ball of light. A miniature sun. 

“What the hell is going on?” is everything Villa can mutter at this point, because he can feel the earth starting to spin beneath his feet and he does not like it. He also doesn’t appreciate everybody ignoring his question. He thinks it’s kind of essential that if these things keep happening, somebody should start filling him in; he’s starting to feel like an idiot. Hell, even Xavi is ignoring him when Villa nudges him with his elbow while everyone is busy staring in silence; at the guy or the thing he’s carrying, Villa doesn’t know. But Xavi is looking at him, definitely, looking at him like he’s the second coming of some kind and –

Oh. Okay. Now he gets it.

He nudges Xavi again. “Is that –”

“Andrés,” Leo speaks up suddenly, addressing the visitor who has drenched everything in hues of grey. Maybe it’s a coincidence that there are no people around all of a sudden, but Villa doubts it is.

Xavi is in a trance, attempts to step forward and Villa automatically moves with him because he’s still got his hand wound around Xavi’s arm. But Piqué stretches his abnormally long arm right across their chests. His gaze does not falter, but it’s clear he is addressing them.

“Don’t move,” he says with an unusually tight and serious voice. 

“What are you –” Villa starts, then calls out. “Leo!”

Leo does move, but he only throws a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes barely registering them before they are yet again focused on Andrés and his ball of light. He takes a step closer and Villa has a gut feeling that something is not right; with Leo, with this situation and everything.

“Andrés,” Leo presses on, and Villa knows that tone, knows that Leo is growing frustrated and impatient and it is never a good thing if that happens. “Give it to me.”

Andrés looks down at the glowing something in his hands and Villa realises that he is actually trembling. His entire body is shaking like a leaf and he takes a half-step back, hesitating, and lifting his eyes to meet Leo’s again.

“You told me to get it for you,” he says quietly and yet somehow, his voice echoes across the street. “I looked for it. It took me a long time to find it. But I did. And now here it is.”

“I can see that,” and Leo takes another step, making Andrés flinch visibly and Villa is slowly but steadily losing the ground beneath his feet. He feels dizzy. “Now. Give it to me.”

Villa wants to move forward again, just take Leo’s hand, shake him and drag him away and back to his place. But Piqué’s arm is solid like a rock.

“I said don’t move,” Piqué says, voice dropped. “It’s better if you remain still. And silent.”

He wants to protest, he really does, but he guesses his instincts kick in and this does feel like something nobody mortal should get involved in. Maybe that thing Xavi’s cupid is holding is like nitrogen. Or a nuclear bomb. Yet Leo is still there and he’s ignoring him and he wants whatever the thing is and Villa is… he doesn’t –

“How will I know,” Andrés breaks through the tense silence, “that you will keep up your end of the bargain?”

What bargain?, Villa thinks just as Leo answers.

“You will just have to trust me,” he says and Villa can practically hear the smirk he is wearing on his lips. “And I will only say this once again: give it to me.”

A low grumble reaches his ears. The small pebbles lying on pavement and street start stirring and trembling. Andrés looks at the glowing sphere in his hands once more, biting his lip in human gesture. He stretches out his arms. Villa can see Leo tense; he can see him reaching for it and the grumbling sound grows to a roar violent enough to make windows break. Then Leo dips his hand in light. 

There is a bright flash; a shockwave slapping his body and Villa gets thrown back. He stumbles and falls to the ground, Xavi and even Piqué following suit. In his dazed mind, out of the corners of his bleary and clouded eyes, he can see a dark figure shrouded by shadows that look disturbingly like… but maybe it’s all in his head, Villa thinks he’s hit it pretty hard and surely there are no wings, there absolutely cannot be any wings and oh fucking God, he feels like he’s going to be sick. 

Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, Villa groans, almost hurls, because whatever has just hit him – it felt unreal. And maybe it is. He wants to call out, but his throat is tight and his voice mute and he can barely see his own hands coated in grey dust. Leo and Andrés are still standing there and he has no clue what just happened and what is going on right this moment, but just judging from the expression on the angel’s face – it’s nothing good. He looks downright terrified. And the fact that Leo is the one he is looking at –

Villa cuts himself off, does not want to go down that road with that inevitable ending and maybe he’s an idiot, an idiot head over heels for someone who terrifies angels, but this… this can’t be what he thinks it is. It just can’t. Villa refuses. He doesn’t think it works that way but – he just refuses. Coughing, he tries to get to his feet, fails and falls back just as Leo starts to move with steady steps. Andrés is backing off, he clearly is trying to get away from Leo and then oddly enough, he goes down too; falls like any regular person would and Leo has to turn and angle his body to face Andrés head on and his face, his eyes – 

He scares Villa too.

Leo smiles a cruel smile, so cold that Villa can feel the chill on his skin as he reaches out for Andrés, the glowing ball tightly pressed to his chest with his left hand.

“You fool,” he says, and touches Andrés’ right temple with his fingers.

His body slumps lifelessly to the side. 

Leo disappears with a flash of light.

 

 

When Villa comes to it, he hadn’t been aware of being out of it at all. But he opens his eyes and he’s on his back and there are three pairs of eyes looking at him worriedly. Two, he recognises, the other… oh crap. Now he remembers. He tries to sit up, but Xavi places a firm hand on his sternum.

“Take it easy,” Xavi tells him. “I think you need a few minutes.”

“I don’t,” Villa is quick to disagree, trying to ignore the fact that despite his concerned expression, Xavi is fucking glowing, most definitely thanks to the sheer presence of his cupid, who is hovering over Villa like he knows him, like he knows a bloody thing about him and has the right to be distressed. Villa has no idea what the fuck happened, but he knows that Andrés is here and Leo isn’t and it’s just not right.

“You do,” Piqué joins in, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You got hit, twice, by something that your mortal shell should never be exposed to. Leo used to kill people with that.”

“He used to – what? Kill people with what exactly?”

“With his sword.”

Villa turns his head so fast his neck cracks. “That was not a sword,” he throws into Andrés’ direction. “That was… well, I don’t know what it was, but it was not a fucking sword.”

“Not technically,” Andrés replies. “It’s not an object of any kind. It’s the rawest form of… of energy that you can imagine. It’s raw and sharp and only archangels can possess and wield it. It’s why it’s called their sword.”

“Then why is he up on his feet?” Villa bites and points a shaky finger at Xavi, who raises his brows.

“Jesus, I’m glad you’re well too.”

“Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean. Why aren’t you out like a light?”

Xavi opens his mouth, then realises that he doesn’t have an answer for that; looks to Piqué and Andrés, but both cupids just shrug.

“Honestly? No clue,” Piqué says. 

“Brilliant,” Villa huffs and finally manages to sit up. His head is still swimming and his vision blacks for a moment, but he doesn’t throw up, and he remains upright, so he isn’t going to complain. He glances around, finds that he is on the floor in the coffee shop. The interior is still dipped in grey, for whatever reason, and now he can see Gonzalo and Kun in a corner, still curled into embryo position, looking pale and ironically close to death. “Right,” he sighs. “Before someone is going to answer my questions about everything else, what happened to these two? And why the fuck aren’t there any colours?”

“Time has frozen,” Andrés says, like that explains anything, but thankfully, he is fast to continue. “It usually only happens when an archangel descends and they are the only ones who can do it. Our spheres are delicately connected and for an archangel’s presence not to disturb your world, he has to still it. It seems to have automatically happened because I was carrying Leo’s sword.” His eyes flicker towards Kun and Gonzalo. “This place is now surrounded by an archangel’s grace. It resembles heaven more than earth at this point, and their souls are so tattered and incomplete that it pains them.”

“Can you make it stop?” because looking at them like that… That’s just cruel.

“I,” Andrés starts, then bites his lip again and stops. “I’m afraid I can’t. I’m afraid I –” and he breaks off again, lowers his gaze to his hands that are tightly gripping his trouser legs, delicate and pale and he is still barefooted, and there are goosebumps covering his skin like he’s… like he’s actually cold and now that Villa looks closer, he can see veins shimmering beneath his skin and a barely-there blush adorning his cheeks as if he were. As if –

Villa rushes to his feet, takes a couple of hasty steps until his back hit the front door of the coffee shop.

“What the fuck happened? What the bloody fuck is going on?”

“Villa,” Xavi says, “please stay –”

“If you say calm, I will decorate the floor with your teeth. Because I seriously do not have it in me to remain calm anymore, all right?” He’s talking himself into a frenzy, but there is this torrent of words stuck right in his throat and it needs to come out if Villa doesn’t want to choke on it. “My best friend turns into a living corpse and I don’t bat an eyelash. I support him, and I am patient with him. Then it turns out that the reason he was an actual zombie, was because some archangel took away his memory as punishment for falling in love with a fucking cupid. And I think considering, I stayed pretty calm. Then the guy I am seeing tells me he is the Angel of Death, and I keep seeing him, I stay considerably calm then too, even when I realise that I love him and he loves me, and it will still never work out simply because I’ll die. Even then, I didn’t bat a fucking eyelash.”  
Villa breathes heavily, pulse racing and blood boiling.  
“So now, my best friend’s angel boyfriend drops down from heaven with a freaking angel sword in his hand and my boyfriend disappears with it and suddenly I’m knocked out and he,” and he points at Andrés, “is fucking human. I think I’ve earned myself a damn freak-out!”

Their silence is agreement enough. But Villa is not done. He is so not done.

“And now,” he says. “Tell me where Leo is. If he’s got his sword, doesn’t that mean he’s the Angel of Death again? Back in the job? Because I – I just let him go like this, all right? I need to at least talk to him.”

“He is now what he used to be,” Andrés answers cryptically. “The Angel of Death in all but position. But I do not know where he is now.”

“Great,” Villa scoffs and turns to Piqué. “How about you? Can you, I don’t know, do you angel-beaming stuff and find him?”

“Not anymore.”

“So that’s it.” Villa is starting to feel light-headed, light-hearted, again. “That’s just… that’s just supposed to be it, huh? He’s just – gone. And I guess I’m supposed to be fine with that. Fucking brilliant. This is just fucking brilliant,” and he tries to will the sting in his eyes away, tries to suppress that throbbing numbness rapidly spreading from his chest, but he can’t. And he is glad that his back is already against the wall because he doubts he could remain upright otherwise. 

Xavi walks up to him and twitches like he wants to give Villa a hug, but Villa doesn’t want him to even try, not now, not ever, because he is just – 

“Oh fuck,” he breathes and presses his fist to his lips, mumbles into his skin. “Jesus, fuck.”

“I know how it feels,” Xavi tells him. “Believe me, Villa. I know how it feels,” like that’s any sort of comfort to him.

“The fuck you do. You had no idea that you’d lost anything at all. You were just a miserable puddle and look at you, look at your smart-ass cupid, waltzing in, becoming human to stay with you. Your problems are all solved, aren’t they?” he sneers and puts a hand to Xavi’s chest to stop him from getting closer. “You talked about a bargain, hm?” he throws over to Andrés. “Worked out well, didn’t it? You should be ecstatic. I’m the only one who drew a blank.” 

Before anyone can comment on it, a laugh sounds from the corner of the room, laboured and hollowed. Gonzalo is blinking at them with bloodshot eyes. Villa had almost forgotten that the demons are still present.

“What?” Villa snaps, because this is not funny. He doesn’t care if some weird angel stuff is frying his brain, if Gonzalo keeps laughing; he is going to lose his mind – more than he’s losing it already. 

The demon drags his body up into a sitting position, lets his head drop back against the wall, baring his teeth as he smiles and his corner teeth somehow seem longer than before.

“You think this was his bargain?” he says, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and strained, and he looks straight at Andrés. “You think you were the receiving end of the deal?” and he snorts out another laugh, nudges Kun with his elbow and the other demon manages a weak but taunting smirk. “You are a puppet. A foot soldier. A worthless pawn.”

Andrés starts approaching Gonzalo, but then he seems to realise that between the two of them, he doesn’t have the upper hand, not anymore. He stops halfway between him and Piqué who has been more serious and quiet than Villa’s ever seen him.

“What do you know?”

“Everything,” Gonzalo answers and now Villa wants to laugh too.

“Perfect,” he finds himself commenting before he can think better of it. “The castaway demon, who spends most of his time baking, is better informed than the entity of heaven. That’s a good one.”

“Well,” Piqué throws in hesitantly, “we did always suspect that Leo was up to something.”

“I wonder why,” Villa sneers, rolling his eyes at this freakshow he’s somehow become part of and now that Leo isn’t there, he finds it irritating. He still pushes Xavi out of the way, and walks towards Gonzalo and Kun. He crouches down. “Pipita, come on. You can tell me, right? Leo’s gone and –”

“He’s not gone,” Gonzalo interrupts him. “He’s just… off for now, I guess. Enjoying what he didn’t have for the past seven hundred years. He’s going to come back. For you.”

“For me,” Villa repeats numbly and blinks.

A commotion behind him starts and startles him, yet before he can turn around, Piqué has pushed him to the side and is winding his hand around Gonzalo’s neck, pressing down. Gonzalo yelps and his eyes flash darkly and Villa is too stunned to do anything but stare.

“What do you know?” Piqué commands in what Villa assumes to be his authoritative angel voice and he finally gets a grip, regains his balance and pushes at Piqué.

“Have you lost your mind? You’re –” He wants to say killing him, but that’s not really accurate, so he corrects himself. “You’re hurting him. He’s not going to say anything this way.” Turning around, he gives Xavi and Andrés a pointed look.

“Piqué,” Andrés says then. “Stop it. This is no way to behave.”

Perhaps it’s an angel authority thing, but Piqué does let go and Gonzalo seems instantly relieved, rubbing his flaming red neck. But he stays quiet, doesn’t utter another single word and maybe Piqué squeezed too tight and crushed his vocal chords in the process. However, Villa’s mind is still kind of stuck on the fact that Leo is supposed to be returning in the near future; that he is going to come back for him. And he instantly feels more relieved, a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders. Although there is this quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him he shouldn’t get too excited. 

Villa thinks he’s got a fair idea about what might happen when Leo does come back.

Out of the blue, icy fingers encircle his wrist. Kun.

“You care for him, don’t you?” he asks Villa with wide eyes. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to him, right?”

“I do. And I wouldn’t.”

Kun nods, and smiles tightly. “He cares for you too, you know? He might not tell you, but don’t hold that against him. He’s not… he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know nice things. And he’s so angry, all the time, but he doesn’t mean to be.”

“Hey,” Villa interrupts him, covering Kun’s trembling fingers with his own. “I know.”

“I owe him everything. Pipita too. If I tell you, promise me you won’t let them kill him.”

“Why would anyone –”

“They will. Leo thinks he’s going to be fine, but he won’t. And they’re going to kill him. Either his Father, or his own brother,” and Kun takes a deep breath despite not needing to and looks Villa dead in the eye. Villa can sense Xavi and Andrés hovering behind him, and Piqué to his side. “Leo is going to open the gates of hell,” he says. “And he is going to free Lucifer of his chains.”

 

 

“Right.” Villa puts his hands on the table they had just a short while ago played cards at without a single fucking care in the world. Gonzalo is still lying on the floor, barely able to keep his eyes open and Kun has put a bag of ice onto his forehead, claiming that it was going to help. Villa is in no position to question Kun on his demon-sitting abilities. They’ve got more important matters to talk about anyway. “How about a quick recap. Leo has tricked Andrés here into stealing his sword, making him all-powerful again and in return, he turned him into a powerless human. Right now he’s off doing God knows what, but he does plan to unleash the freaking devil himself to carry out his revenge on heaven. And nobody really knows what to do about it, right? Am I missing something?”

“Unfortunately no,” Piqué replies.

“Right,” Villa sighs. “And just to be clear: all this shit goes down, time still frozen and all, and nobody up there bothers to check in on us? They don’t see that they’ve got trouble heading their way?”

“They’re always slow to react,” Andrés says. “Even if they have noticed something is amiss, they’re more inclined towards letting the problems solve themselves.”

“Because that always works out well,” Xavi comments dryly. “Is there nobody up there who could, you know, just stop Leo? I mean; they banned Lucifer. They took Leo’s powers away once. Why not just do it again?”

Both Andrés and Piqué mull over it for a moment before Piqué finds his voice to answer.

“Only Our Father could do that. He was the one to ban Lucifer and put him in chains and he was the one who cast out Leo.”

“Yet Michael was the one who defeated Lucifer in the first place,” Andrés adds thoughtfully. “When in possession of his sword, no other archangel could match Leo.”

“Then why doesn’t he get his ass down here and do something?” Villa feels inclined to ask. 

“Yeah,” Kun suddenly pipes up. “Why don’t you?” and he is staring straight ahead.

At Xavi.

All heads turn towards him and Villa blinks in confusion. The only comfort is that Xavi looks even more confused than all of them put together. 

“Um,” he starts. “What?”

“Why don’t you do something?” Kun repeats almost impatiently. “Perhaps destroy the sword this time rather than keeping it for some random cherub to grab?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Villa throws in, almost knocking over the stack of dirty dishes to his left. He distractedly wonders if it would be tactless for him to ask Kun to make a cup of coffee. Or more than one. He thinks he needs a lot of caffeine right now. 

“You are Michael, are you not?” Kun elaborates after a couple of baffled glances have been exchanged at the table. “Leo said you were. Only in a human shell. I assumed that’s why you were acting weird this morning.”

Xavi blinks furiously. “Sorry – what?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed it’s you,” Kun continues unperturbed, seemingly adapting to his new angel-poisoned surroundings much better than Gonzalo; he almost seems chipper again. “No offence, but you do look pretty ordinary at first glance. Piqué here isn’t going to be of much you, but you could strip Leo off his powers, couldn’t you?”

“No I couldn’t!” Xavi calls out desperately, getting up and taking a few hurried steps around the room, rubbing his fingers over his scalp and his face, inwardly shaking so much that the tremble carries on to the outside. “I have no fucking idea what you’re on about. I mean, it’s not even possible, is it?” he asks and looking at Andrés, he anxiously waits for him to support him.

But Andrés looks like a deer in the headlights, frozen and helplessly lost. “Michael is gone,” he utters absently. “He struck Lucifer and disappeared and we didn’t… There were stories, many stories but nobody knew.”

“You can’t honestly believe that this is actually true,” Xavi says and Piqué and Andrés say nothing, and Villa can’t do anything but be kind of overwhelmed with everything, mental capacities exhausted. 

“I can prove it,” Kun suggests, stretches and catches Xavi’s wrist just like he had caught Villa’s not more than a few minutes ago. But instead of just holding on, Kun jams his teeth together and squints and hisses.

When he withdraws his hand, Villa can see that his palm is covered in blistered. 

“What the fuck,” he says and it’s Xavi’s turn to do the staring.

“Your soul is so bright it actually burns me,” Kun explains simply. “No normal soul could do that to me. See?” And he presses his flat hand (the one without blisters, thankfully) to Villa’s forehead just to prove another point. 

There is more baffled silence; more wide-eyed looks and Villa can’t decide whether to be thankful for being the only normal person amidst them. “Well, fuck me.”

“I’m supposed to be the actual archangel Michael?” Xavi snorts. “Right. Because that makes so much sense. Whatever has stopped time has obviously fried your brain. Don’t you think I’d know if I was someone else?”

Kun shrugs. “Believe me or not, it doesn’t change a thing,” he says almost nonchalantly, licking the tips of his fingers to pick up a few crumbs covering the stacked-up plates. “It was a pretty smart thing to do after going into hiding. But souls are curious things, aren’t they? Very fickle. Leo says they’re pretty tasty too. And they never die. They’re cleansed and reborn and I don’t know if that’s what you intended, to lose all knowledge of who you used to be… But that’s Michael’s soul, all right. I know a damn archangel’s soul when I feel one. Give me some credit.”

Xavi is still looking to Andrés. “Come on, Andrés, this is… I mean, it can’t…” and he trails off as Andrés continues to look at him with wide eyes.

“I always thought you were different,” he muses wondrously. “I could never tell why.”

“Villa?”

“Oh no,” he replies instantly. “I’m out. Not letting any of this sink in, because my brain will literally explode if I do, and it won’t be pretty.”

Xavi shakes his head. “You have all lost your mind,” and then Piqué moves, making Xavi flinch before pointing a trembling finger. “Oh fuck no, no bloody kneeling! Are you insane?”

“Only Leo would figure it out,” Piqué says after coming to stand again. “You knew each other so well; used to be so close. He didn’t tell you?”

“Not – technically. He said some weird things I didn’t really get.”

“What?”

“What he said, in a way,” Xavi sighs and nods over at Kun, looking deflated and exhausted and it doesn’t surprise Villa at all. But as he said, he’s trying not to take all of this in, because this – this is too much for just one day. Maybe spread out over a week or so, a month; or ever better, a lifetime. 

 

Time has frozen, but Villa guesses that they don’t talk for at least an hour. Piqué is worrying his lips and Gonzalo returns to the living (at least in some way), not parting from the slowly melting pack of ice that he wears like a hat. Kun is slumped forward, head resting on the table and Andrés has sat down on the armrest of the chair Xavi has sunk down on. The former cupid but seemingly comfortable in his own skin human keeps running his fingers through Xavi’s hair in a gesture so soft and gently it kind of makes Villa’s heart ache. 

He is still trying to come to terms with the fact that time is standing still; that his best friend is actually an archangel reincarnated; that Leo is releasing the actual devil to finally have revenge on those who abandoned and hurt him. And Villa is really trying to not understand Leo, to be angry and disappointed and probably terrified out of his fucking mind – but he gets it. He knows Leo’s story. He doubts that other wouldn’t do the same if they could. So, he can understand it perfectly, but that doesn’t mean he believes it’s actually a good idea. The outcome can’t be rosy for any of them and he’d happy just unfreeze time, turn in back a day and tell Andrés to leave Leo’s fucking sword where it is so that they can all live in peace. 

“I’m sorry,” Xavi suddenly breaks the silence. “I don’t know why you think I’m… well, you know. But I’m not, okay? I’m just me. I can’t – do anything.”

“It’s alright, angel boy,” Villa says sympathetically and pats Xavi’s hand. Xavi sends him a half-hearted glare. Drops from Gonzalo’s bag of ice hit the table with a steady rhythm. “Nobody can do anything. But… we’ll figure things out, right? We’ll work out something, so,” he says with a dry laugh. “I guess we should go stop the Apocalypse and shit.”

“Villa?” Xavi asks. 

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

 

***

 

It’s exhilarating. It is a craving finally satisfied, an ache finally quenched; a lost limb regained, a parent reunited with their long lost child. He wants to rejoice and curse the heavens, curse His Father and his pawns and laugh at them while they fall and crumble to dust.

But all in due time. 

Right now, Leo has things to do, urgent things that cannot be postponed, although he would quite like to. He doesn’t like leaving Villa behind like this, no doubt exposing him to lies that these cherubs are no doubt going to tell him. But he believes that Villa will not let them pass judgment for him. He’s got it all figured out, he just needs to follow his plan and everything will turn out in his favour; he will have revenge instead of redemption and he will have Villa for the rest of his existence instead of a mere mortal lifetime.

 

He lets a blast of light lose while he walks across the Atacama desert, obscuring the thousands of years old geoglyphs just because he can and it doesn’t feel as good as it should.

 

They part as he walks, a beacon of shining light in the icy darkness. Leo finds it quite a strange experience to actually set his eyes upon hell after all this time. If possible, it is even more than unpleasant now that Leo can see the misery, the crippled beings flinching and curling away from the path he cuts through them. It takes Leo no time at all to find him. 

“You look like shit.”

A raspy chuckle; a pale and stained chest stuttering with it. “As do you, little brother. Halos don’t suit you. You look so… heavenly,” and he spits out the word like poison tainting his tongue.

“Really?” Leo smiles. “I thought it gave me quite a healthy glow.”

Lucifer smirks. “It burns me.”

“You’ll survive,” Leo shrugs. “You always do.”

“I assume that the little cupid has done as you commanded. Now, are you going to set me free?” he cuts to the chase. “Are you going to break these tedious chains?”

It clatters and clinks and Leo can see them now that his brother pulls at them; the web of shackles wound around him to allow no movement whatsoever. It is a painful sight, he thinks, one that should move him more but it doesn’t, for some reason. His brother is less than a shadow of himself; distorted almost beyond recognition, face a warped mask of his former appearance. Only his eyes still hold the same unbroken spirit, the same rebellious soul and that unmatched wit and intelligence and if it weren’t for them, Leo might not have recognised him at all. He would not have believed to have his brother in front of him. 

“Not yet,” Leo says. “I realise there is some place I need to go first. Someone I need to see before I open the pit.”

“You deem your little human more important than me?” Leo stops short. “What? Are you surprised I have ways to keep me informed? Are you surprised I do not only rely on you bringing me word?”

“What do you know?”

“I know enough,” Lucifer tells him, “to be slightly baffled that you place a mere mortal above me. Of what use is he to you, baby brother? Does he make you happy? Do you love him?”

His hand shoots out before Leo can help it, grabbing his throat and squeezing down, skin so icy that it burns Leo’s palm but he doesn’t care.

“Consider our positions,” Leo reminds him while fighting a spreading tightness in his chest, uneasiness taking over and grabbing hold of his body. “Do not dare to mock me.”

“I would not think of it. Yet I can’t but wonder,” he muses, tilting his head out of Leo’s grasp with an odd glint to his eyes. “You go through such lengths, you risk it all just for him. And for what? You do not honestly believe that he will not betray you like everybody else has before him, do you?”

He bits his lip. “Villa is different.”

“Oh, but is he really? Perhaps you should out him to the test. It would pain me to find you disappointed and with your hands stained by his blood because he turned out to be no more worthy of you than all the others.” Then his gaze turns softer. “You should remember that I am the only one you can truly trust. I’m the one who will always stay by your side.”

But Leo doubts that. He wants to believe that, but he doubts that he can fully trust his brother. And as much as he still loves Lucifer, he doesn’t think that he would refrain from crossing him if it were to benefit his own cause. Much like Leo, Lucifer is an opportunist. And even more, he is an excellent liar. 

“I will return shortly,” Leo says. “And this time, do not send any of your pawns after me. I will skin them and send back their heads for the others to feast upon them.”

 

The world is still standing still and devoid of all colours when Leo arrives back on the empty street and looks at the doors leading to a place that has, for the past couple of months, become something resembling life so closely that Leo had given in to the illusion in spite of his better judgment. He had given in to a non-reality that would never be real, at least not for his kind, and especially not for him. 

It dawns on him now that he can rebel all he want and make his own right and wrong choices – but he will always remain a prisoner of his own existence. He can’t change who and what he is; he had never wanted to. But he sees Villa’s silhouette through the smudged windows, knowing that he can make his own choices too, and Leo is afraid that Villa’s choice won’t include him. So he stays frozen to the spot, trying to argue himself into leaving, failing miserably and in the end, his subconscious decides for him, forcing his body to move entirely on its own.

The little bell above the door chirps pathetically as all eyes settle on him and go wide. Leo wants his gaze to find Villa’s and stay there, but he can’t help but notice Gonzalo and Kun huddled together in a corner, pupils blown and teeth bared and he hears his name being called, yet he walks over to them. They shrink and blink against his light and he can see their pain, can almost feel it. They’ve always been faithful; they are his friends and seeing them suffer is unbecoming. So Leo reaches out for them and they scoot closer on their knees until they’re a tangle of limbs to his feet. He touches their foreheads with his palms and the cracks in their souls are so ragged they almost cut into his hands. 

Then Leo digs in. 

Their shrieks are far too familiar in his ears and he finds his regained powers almost pleased with them. But they die down almost instantly as Leo puts them back together, piece by piece, like a broken puzzle. When he is finished, their souls lie bare and tempting and it would easy for him to soak them up, but his name being called again draws his attention away from Kun and Gonzalo and they sink to the floor when he releases them to turn around. 

“Leo,” Villa says again and tries to push his way past Piqué, who stands between them like a solid tower. 

“Are you suddenly afraid of me?” Leo addresses the only remaining cherub in the room. 

Piqué shakes his head. “I’m afraid of what you’re willing to do.”

“You should know,” Leo says, “that I am willing to do many things to get what I want.”

“And what do you want now?”

Leo averts his gaze. His eyes lock with Villa’s. “You know exactly what I want.” Then he holds out his hand. “We should go,” he tells Villa, who seems confused.

“What?”

“We need to leave,” he repeats, taking a determined step forward, silently begging Villa to stop asking question, to just trust him and take his hand and let Leo take him away. “I need you to be safe.”

“Safe from what? From the fucking devil you’re planning to unleash? If you haven’t done that already.”

“Safe from this rotten earth,” Leo evades the accusation. Kun and Gonzalo must have told them while he was gone. He should’ve known better than to let them in on his plans. “Come with me, or you can choose to stay.”

Villa raises his brows. “So it’s basically the choice between only dying technically, and actually. Why would I pick either of these options? Leo, we talked about this. This is insane.”

“It’s insane that I am not willing to part from you? That I don’t want to watch you die?”

He can see Villa’s façade crumble; can feel the jab to his chest because it hits him in the same place.

“That’s not the point, Leo!” Villa calls out, ducking around Piqué’s arm, but not coming as close as Leo wishes him to be. “I will die, that’s what people do and it’s fine. This is my life and my home and these are my friends. And I can’t leave them.”

“Not even for me?” His throat feels tight, almost as tight as his chest and his head is beginning to throb. 

“Jesus, Leo. Why do you think those are the only options? We were having a good run, right? It’s good the way it is. You don’t need to do any of this. Forget about the fucking devil and revenge and we can just go home. But I won’t leave.”

Leo only hears half of what Villa is saying. He has Lucifer’s voice in his head, telling him, saying See, I told you he wasn’t going to choose you, I told you he would leave you like everyone else always leaves you. And Leo grabs his sword tightly, trying to drown out the pain from where his heart would be if he had one. He can feel a familiar burn seizing his soul; wrath suppressed for so long, wanting to break free.

“Leo, please drop it,” Villa continues, but Leo just hears him as if he were far away. Rage is buzzing in his ears and he has his sword and he wants to drive it into the ground to open it up and let hell’s scum crawl out of it. He wants to take it and drive it into his own chest because it hurts. It hurts so much and if it’s going to be like this for all eternity, than Leo doesn’t want to exist anymore and everything and everyone can go to hell. Suddenly, he doesn’t know what he hates more: his own existence or the ones who forced him into it. He has just fixed the broken edges of Kun and Gonzalo’s souls, and how ironic is it that he can feel the jagged pieces of his own tattered being tearing him up from inside. 

Come on, the voice in his head continues, so prominent it obscures his vision. Do it. And together we can wipe them out. I will kill them all if you set me free.

“Leo,” Villa starts again, carefully approaching and then there it is. Leo can feel it. There is something wrong and he doesn’t –

The voice is too loud, it is too overwhelming to come from afar; it’s inside his head and it’s spreading quickly like a disease. “Stay away,” he manages to grit out between his teeth as he is forced to his knees by sheer agony. 

He got too close, let him bask in Leo’s newfound light; he touched him. And somehow, that was enough. It’s blindingly obvious now, the other presence in his head, whispering in the dark when it was quiet and Leo is a fool, he truly is. 

“Then I advise you to be careful, little brother. We wouldn’t want anyone to take it away from you.”

He lifts his sword, sees out of the corner of his eye that Villa is still too close and he doesn’t – he can’t – yet he still has the upper hand, he can force his brother out, force him away again. He might not be Michael, but Leo can take him on if he just. If he –

“Leo!”

Their eyes meet and all of a sudden, Leo is sure Villa knows what’s happening, what he has to do and he was right, this isn’t either of the two options, it’s not an option either of them would pick and it’s all in the fraction of a second that Leo gains clarity. Lucifer used him and for thinking that their mutual hate of heavenly laws and hierarchies would make them allies, that their brotherly bond meant anything when Lucifer had once killed hundreds of their kind, Leo deserves this. Leo deserves to be punished for thinking his brother would spare Villa in his quest to wipe out the earth just because Leo asked him to. Kun and Gonzalo warned him, and he didn’t listen, too blinded by his own ambitions to see that his brother would never compromise and bow to him.

And now he is stuck to Leo’s soul like a parasite. 

There is only one way to get rid of him. “Goodbye,” he says and drives his sword into his own chest. A scream that is not his leaves his lips and all outlines start to blur and fade, but he feels warm. He feels a certain kind of warmth that he’d expected to never sense again. Lucifer is still clawing on his insides, but he loses grip, can’t hold on to a soul that is now successfully broken in half by Leo’s own doing. 

He feels oddly relieved.

As he drifts away, fingers entangle with his own and hold on, even as he is lifted off and dragged away by the light.

 

“Where are we?”

Leo blinks himself out of his trance. Villa is sitting right in front of him. They are surrounded by nothing but grey infinity. He touches a few careful fingers to his chest and finds it free of pain; free of the gaping wound he should have inflicted on himself. 

“Heaven,” he says breathlessly. 

“Does that mean we’re dead?” Villa asks. 

“I don’t know,” and Leo really doesn’t. He curls his upper body forward and pulls his legs against his chest, bedding his chin on his knees. “Why did you –”

“Why did I throw myself at you when you were disappearing in a cloud of light?” Villa shrugs. “Not sure. You kind of don’t deserve it after trying to unleash the devil on our asses.”

Leo huffs.

“But that backfired, didn’t it? And I think you know already that it wasn’t your best move.” Villa sighs. “You made a mistake. And I know you’ve made them before and you got punished for it. But I’m not going to do that.”

He raises his glance in surprise. Villa is looking at him with honest eyes, warm and full of something that reminds Leo of –

“I get that you’re still angry, even after all this time. I get that it’s easy to hold onto a grudge. Hell, I have a sister, I have a family and sure, our fights are happening on a smaller scale, but shit goes down. It always does. They turned their back on you when they shouldn’t have and you’ve been alone all this time and I –“ and Villa breaks off, chews on his lip before reaching out and taking Leo’s hand. “I don’t think anyone’s ever really loved you before.”

Leo feels light-headed. His chest is too small for everything Villa is putting into it.

Villa shrugs, looks at him almost bashfully. “But I love you, all right? I love you, and I don’t care about all the crap that went down hundreds of years ago or just now. Can’t say why, but I do. And I know we’re probably doomed to fail at this. Fuck, I don’t even know if we’re still alive.”

“Villa, I –”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Villa cuts him off. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’re totally fine after that stunt just now. You looked kind of… split in half.”

It’s something Leo can’t quite grasp either, but as he is about to answer, he notices Villa’s glance drift over his shoulder and then his eyes widen and so Leo turns around. And there he is. Of course he has his hands in this.

“Pep.”

The archangel, Their Father’s voice and eyes and since Michael’s fall also His right hand, smiles like he always does. “Hello, little one.”

Leo is quick to rise to his feet, dragging Villa up with him and not letting go of his hand even as he comes face to face with the one who is going to decide not just his, but most likely both of their futures. 

“I’m very disappointed,” Pep starts with a grave voice that still, after everything he’s done, makes Leo cringe inwardly. 

“Oh no,” Villa pipes up next to him and Leo turns a bewildered look into his direction. “Hold that thought, mister, I don’t think –”

But Leo shushes him by pulling at his arm, and vehemently shaking his head and he realises that it’s a big change of attitude for him, but this is not just about his own existence anymore. They can do with him what they want, but Villa is still here and no human ever should be and Leo fears that Pep might hurt him to teach Leo a lesson. And yes, he deserves it, but he just –

“I know, Pep,” he says. “I was supposed to find redemption. Instead all I looked for was revenge. But I refuse to apologise. Please understand that I can’t be sorry. Not for this. And I beg you to punish me. I beg you to end me, because I can’t face another seven hundred years on earth.”

“Leo, what are you –”

This time it’s Pep who silences Villa by raising his hand. He steps closer, wearing a solemn expression, white coat softly rustling with every motion. “I am not disappointed in you, little one. I am disappointed that you were forced to believe that Our Father wouldn’t let you find peace.” He places a warm hand on Leo’s cheek. “I am disappointed that you were led to think He would wish to inflict pain upon you.”  
Before Leo can utter a single word as reply, Pep turns to Villa. “You should rest,” he tells him. “When you wake up, you shall find everything resolved.”

And with a flick of Pep’s hand, Villa is gone. Leo’s fingers grab nothing but air. “Will he be…”

“He shall be just fine, little one,” Pep answers him. “He has done nothing wrong. And Our Father has already come to a decision regarding your fate.”

Leo nods. He wishes he could’ve at least said goodbye, but he guesses he is not deserving of this level of kindness. “Before my punishment is carried out, I do have two questions.”

“Then please do pose them.”

“Is my brother back in his chains?”

“He is,” Pep says. “And he shall remain so.”

Leo almost sighs with relief. Then he meets Pep’s eyes. “You knew that Michael was down there all this time, didn’t you?”

“I believe that is rather a statement than a question,” Pep smiles. “But yes. We never lose sight of any of you.”

“Then why didn’t you…” Leo starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. 

“He had done great deeds,” Pep says nonetheless. “It was his will, and Our Father chose to respect it.”

Leo nods. Merciful after all. It is just kind of disappointing he had to wait millennia to find out. Pep moves closer after letting Leo have a few silent moments to ponder on it all, then he frames Leo’s face in a way that reminds him so much of Villa it almost hurts again. But Pep’s eyes are dark and warm and so deep that Leo gets lost in them, mind blissfully wiped clear and everything inside of him is replaced by warmth, lulling him into a trance. 

He closes his eyes.

“Is this what death feels like?” he asks.

Pep’s voice sounds close and far away simultaneously. 

“No,” he replies. “This is what it is like to find peace.”

 

***

 

Villa groans and burrows deeper into his pillow, phone still pressed to his ear with reluctance. He has received too many of these calls over the past week, all well intended he is sure, an attempt to get him back into the world because he has basically not left his bedroom in days. And oh, the irony, of course it’s Xavi who is calling him. 

“I don’t want to go out and get coffee,” he tells him.

“You always want coffee,” Xavi argues.

“I have coffee in my kitchen,” Villa replies. “If I want coffee, I can go into my kitchen and get some.”

“Do you even get to the kitchen?”

Villa rolls his eyes. “I could. If I wanted to.”

Xavi sighs heavily. “I give up, I really do. But please note that this is not healthy. And you’ll have to leave your flat eventually.”

“Noted,” Villa says and hangs up. He tosses the phone of the bed where it hits the floor with a clunk. Honestly, he hopes it breaks so that he won’t have to take these calls anymore. Xavi might mean well, but it’s still annoying as fuck. Villa doesn’t have a problem. He just doesn’t feel like getting up. He is quite content with staying cooped up in his bedroom for the rest of his life.

“Was that Xavi?”

Villa rolls over and stretches and the smile that’s been plastered to his face makes no sign of disappearing. “Yup.”

“What did he want?”

He reaches out his hand and brushes a stray strand of hair off Leo’s forehead. He looks so young and soft in the cold light of early morning, even more so now than he had ever looked before. Villa is still waiting to wake up and find it was all a dream; he is still waiting for his heart to burst because it’s too small for everything Leo is making him feel. 

“He just wants to get coffee.”

“Hm,” Leo hums and uncurls his body like a cat, blankets sliding off his torso and yes, Villa would be absolutely insane to even think about leaving his bedroom ever again. “I don’t fancy coffee,” Leo continues with a yawn. “But I could do with a brownie.”

A laugh crawls up his throat and leaves Villa’s lips before he can stop it. “Well, I’m glad some things never change,” and he rolls on top of Leo with one swift movement, relishes the quiet gasp that escapes him and leans down to bury his head in the crook of Leo’s neck. He takes a deep breath and can honestly not remember ever feeling more content. He doubts there is anything that could be more perfect.

Leo tangles his hands in his hair, drags blunt nails over Villa’s scalp before shifting a little, letting Villa’s head slide off his shoulder and onto his chest. He places one hand between Villa’s shoulderblades and holds him in place.

Villa closes his eyes and listens. One soft thump after the other – a calm and steady rhythm.

“I have a heart,” Leo says like it still surprises him, and Villa guesses that it probably does. But there is a smile in his voice too. 

“You have a heart,” Villa echoes and it remains unreal to him too. 

It might remain unreal and it might not make a lot of sense. But it’s not like either of them really care.


End file.
